


The Library of Alexandria

by SenLinYu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Librarians, Libraries, Library Sex, Magical Accidents, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 07:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14539968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenLinYu/pseuds/SenLinYu
Summary: The Library of Alexandria is not for just any witch or wizard. Many bookworms may try but few are permitted to pass through its doors. The books residing there are ancient and powerful and, if one happens to make a mistake, the consequences can be rather—novel.





	1. Chapter 1

Ignatius Pigglesworth thought he knew every type of bookworm there was.   
  
He had been a librarian for ninety years. He started as an assistant back in school and then ascended the ranks, from branch to branch, all the way up to the most elite position in the world of Wizarding libraries: Head Librarian of the Library of Alexandria. He’d held the position for thirty years and fully expected to continue for another thirty more.   
  
In that time he had met all manner of curious and clever wizards and witches who were driven by their curiosity, thirst for knowledge, desire for power, or haunted by some need or trauma in their past.   
  
By the time they made it to his doors they had passed through the crucible as it were.   
  
The Library of Alexandria was not for just any witch or wizard.   
  
Contrary to the popular belief of many uninformed wizarding folk, Alexandria was not the largest selection of texts on magical knowledge and theory. That distinction belonged to London’s Central Wizarding Library, which Ignatius had once headed as well. Although the Library of Alexandria was not particularly large, it was ancient and dangerous.   
  
A little known fact of magic was that the written word had a sort of magnetism to the magic it referenced.   
  
Write wingardium leviosa on a bit of parchment and leave it for a hundred years, and you’d find it had a mysterious habit of floating off the table without any discernible breeze to move it. Perhaps it sounds like merely a curious and trifling matter but imagine writing a book of dark spells in the thirteenth century and see what happens when an unsuspecting wizard picked it up seven hundred years later.   
  
Ancient books on magic became positively drenched with the accumulation; the more powerful the spells, the more powerful the magic drawn in. Dark spells had an especially intense sort of attraction for magic. They only needed a few years before they begin getting dangerous.   
  
Most wizarding folk thought that books on dark magic were cursed to keep thieves and meddlers out, but the truth was that most dark wizards and witches barely needed to bother. Their books took care of themselves.   
  
That was why magical textbooks got so frequently updated, it allowed the older editions to be removed from circulation and neutralized before they became inconveniences.   
  
The International Confederation of Wizards had discovered, over the course of several hundred years, that trying to ban the books and scrolls never worked well enough.   
  
Old wizarding families were quite protective of their magic and disinclined to surrender information on useful spells or treatises on magic theory just because it might eventually injure them. Normally, by the time they were ready to admit the problem, the books were deadly. And then it was no easy task to try destroying them, such books had an irritating habit of killing their attackers or cursing them in a manner both permanent and dreadful.   
  
So, it had been decided long ago that, should wizarding folk choose, they could submit such works (while retaining access rights), to the Library of Alexandria, with not an eyebrow raised nor question asked. And the specialized librarians of Alexandria would ward and care for them.   
  
All that was required in return, was that the descendants of the family responsible for developing the magic come in every few years to help maintain the wards. Magic had a fondness for its progenitor, as it were, and tended to begin fading when the family lines ended.   
  
And so, for that reason, the Library of Alexandria was both a sort of prison and home for the oldest, most powerful, and darkest magic in the wizarding world.   
  
And that was why, if any bookworms happened to want to try accessing those books— Well, there was a list of prerequisites longer than their arm they’d need to meet. Not to mention the background checks, probing interviews, and three letters of recommendation: from a recipient of an Order of Merlin (at least second class), a head of Magical Law Enforcement, and a seated member of the International Confederation of Wizards.   
  
There were very few bookworms who managed to make it all the way to Ignatius Pigglesworth’s door during his thirty years as head librarian in Alexandria.   
  
So it was a surprise when Hermione Granger managed to make it there not once, not twice but six times.   
  
The first time she arrived was shortly after the war. Apparently being a war heroine had helped her clear the prerequisites with considerable ease and fly through the background checks and interviews at an unprecedented rate. She had an entire armful of letters to recommend her, and pulled three from the pile to present to him.   
  
Ignatius looked over everything, put down the required stamp and signature of approval, and gave her a visitor portkey-pass that would function for the allotted three weeks permitted annually. The curious little witch practically lived in the library for those three weeks. When it came to an end she gave a small sigh, presented him with a basketful of fairy cakes and a dreadful looking hat she’d knitted, and returned her portkey.   
  
Exactly one year later she appeared again.   
  
She’d gone through the entire process for a second time and wanted to know if her old letters of recommendation would still qualify, or if he wanted one of her newer ones. He’d given her the portkey and watched her take up residence in his library once more.   
  
Fast forward two more years, when she came to return her portkey for the fourth time, he’d asked if she was aware she’d used up her lifetime quota of visitor passes. She’d sighed and acknowledged it. He’d wished her well, assuming he would never see her again.   
  
So— one can imagine his surprise when, a year later, he received an application from the British Ministry of Magic to send an Unspeakable in for classified research for six months; the longest period a non-staff member was permitted access. Everything in the form has been on the up and up, the credentials were all in order right down to the name: Hermione Granger.   
  
Somehow, when she hadn’t been living in his library, the girl had gone and gotten herself into the highest classified tier in the Department of Mysteries.   
  
There was no regulation against it, and Ignatius was both somewhat in awe and terror of the girl’s tenacity. So he’d stamped his approval and sent a portkey to the Ministry of Magic for Unspeakable Granger.   
  
After six months she came to return her portkey, and he’d sincerely expected that to be the last time he ever saw her.   
  
Unspeakables were not allowed to re-visit the library after a six month stint because there was too much of a risk that they might developed something too dark and dangerous in the Department of Mysteries.   
  
A year passed and Ignatius felt a bit sad to see the day come and go for the first time in five years without the reappearance of Hermione Granger. He felt tempted to put up a plaque somewhere to commemorate her.   
  
But then he got distracted by an eagle owl from the International Confederation sent to inform him of the identity of his new assistant librarian. There were some books that had grown rather touchy lately, and he’d requested someone with a talent for curse breaking. The large scroll was filled with a remarkable set of qualifications; quite beyond what he’d expected, given the low pay and staff requirement that the assistant live in the library for three years.   
  
Then he glanced up at the name at the top of the scroll and nearly fell from his seat: Hermione Granger.   
  
The obstinate little witch had somehow managed to come back again.   
  
A few hours later she arrived, bags in tow to settle into her small room within the library. She learned the ropes of the job with remarkable ease and proved herself to be an exceptional curse-breaker. In fact, she was quite likely the best employee he had ever had.   
  
So, it was a slight surprise when, two years into her contract, she abruptly disappeared without any warning.   


* * *

  
Hermione Granger had never loved a place quite as much as she loved the Library of Alexandria. Not even Hogwarts. There was something just utterly entrancing and remarkable about a place so devoted to knowledge. There were no casual visitors there. Everyone who visited had a deep and sincere interest in learning.   
  
Of course it was also a terribly dangerous place. One always had to be on the alert in case a malicious book attacked as she passed it or tried siphoning out her soul when she was distracted reading it. But somehow that only made it more entrancing for her. She had never been anywhere that made her feel so alive. Every time she visited she left feeling compelled to return.   
  
Every day living there was a delight.   
  
At least—until the day Draco Malfoy appeared. That loathsome cockroach could ruin anything.   
  
As it happened, one of Hermione’s many duties in the library was helping descendants re-ward the books their families had “donated” to the library.   
  
Generally speaking, descendants were mild mannered wizarding folk, full of blushes over their ancestral connection to any even remotely dark form of magic. To them Hermione was charming and reassuring. She showed them around and demonstrated just what spells they needed to perform to in order to reinforce the wards. She told them kindly that it was hardly their fault great-great-great-Aunt Hepzibia was someone whose actions they now needed to be responsible for.   
  
Malfoy, however, was greatly lacking in blushes.   
  
He swept into the library foyer as though he owned it. Which was perhaps not entirely inaccurate. The Malfoy Family had married into a great many old wizarding families over the last many hundreds of years. And due to how many pure-blood families had died or were imprisoned following the War, Draco Malfoy was currently the last surviving heir to so many ancient families, he was responsible for re-warding an entire wing of the Library.   
  
No—wait. She checked the paperwork again. Two. Two wings. Nearly a quarter of the books.   
  
He looked completely unapologetic about it. There was not even a trace of penitence in his face over the quantity of dark magic his ancestors had brought into the world.   
  
What was on his face was an expression of utter dismay when he realized just who would be helping him with the re-warding.   
  
“Merlin’s moldy socks, I have to worst luck on earth!” he said in a whimper as he slumped dramatically against the wall when he caught sight of her. “Good god, Granger, you make Madam Pince worthy of gracing Playwitch magazine by comparison.”   
  
She glared at him.   
  
“Isn’t there anyone more attractive I could do this with?” Malfoy practically begged the head librarian, Ignatius Pigglesworth, who had come down to welcome him. “How about her?”   
  
He pointed at Mordred Maylock, who was a hundred and fifty years old if she was a day and could have handily won an ugliest hag competition based solely on the state of her teeth. Mordred looked up from her filing and cackled.   
  
“Sorry, sweetling, I don’t do re-warding,” she said, sniggering.   
  
“Ah, but you should,” Malfoy cajoled, draping himself over her desk in a manner both desperate and sensual while helpfully handing files to her. “I’m sure you’d have a natural talent for it. I think we could make wonderful magic together.”   
  
He smiled and Hermione wanted to hex him. Draco Malfoy, who never did anything but smirk condescendingly, was smiling adoringly at Mordred.   
  
Mordred laid long nailed hand on his cheek.   
  
“You’re so sweet I could eat your liver,” she crooned.   
  
Malfoy blanched slightly. Mordred wasn’t a haglike witch, she was an actual hag.   
  
Hermione burst out into peals of laughter as Draco undraped himself from desk resignedly.   
  
“I see how it is,” he said plaintively. “I will have to love you from afar.”   
  
He turned and stared down at Hermione.   
  
“I’m going to deserve an Order of Merlin for doing so much re-warding under tribulation,” he announced.   
  
“If you can keep quiet while you do it, I’ll give you mine,” she snapped, turning sharply to lead him to the rooms they most urgently needed him to perform the spells in.   
  
He followed her in an aggrieved manner.   
  
“God, Granger, you could have done anything after the war. How on earth did you turn into a librarian? Last I heard you were an Unspeakable in the ministry.”   
  
“This opportunity came up, so I quit.” Hermione shrugged. “It’s not as though there are very many ways to stay here for long. I can always go back to being an Unspeakable in a year when my contract here ends.”   
  
“Only you would choose to be a librarian rather than an Unspeakable.” He snorted. “How is it that you’re only twenty-five and yet you are somehow the most unattractive woman I have ever laid eyes on? Shouldn’t you be brimming with appeal and fertility at this age?”   
  
Hermione ground her jaw and fought the urge to hex him nastily. The library had strict rules about casual use of magic, it tended to make the books act up.   
  
“Twenty-six,” she simply said.   
  
“Pardon?”   
  
“I’m twenty-six. I’m almost a full year older than anyone else our year at school.”   
  
“Ah. That explains it,” Malfoy said in a lofty and knowing tone. “You’re already menopausal.”   
  
One tiny hex would surely not be too much of a library violation, Hermione mused. She was sure that talking to Malfoy counted as such duress that it would make hexing him qualify as a form of self-defense. Even if taken to court, she was sure her case would be compelling to anyone who had ever been obliged to speak to Malfoy.   
  
She stormed on down the hallways until she reached the first room he was needed in.   
  
“Do you know how the spell works?” she asked, trying to maintain a sort of businesslike distance. If she started sniping back at him, she would probably not be able to stop until he was dead.   
  
“Of course. I’ve done this every other year since I graduated,” he said, rolling his eyes.   
  
“Right. Well, most of the rooms are the typical re-warding. But in the history room we’ll have to devise a tandem ward. It only has to be redone every thirty years, and of course we have the lucky opportunity to do it together.” She smiled falsely at him.   
  
With a quick flick of her wand she made an opening in the wards and cast a spell that made the books related to Malfoy glow golden.   
  
It took him two hours to work through all the books in that room, Hermione beside him. He would cast a ward specifically keyed to his magical signature and then she would recast and seal the library’s own wards around each of the books.   
  
He worked impressively fast, Hermione was obliged to admit. It irritated her to make such a concession, even internally. Alas, there was no way to deny it.   
  
Casting warding spells should require a wizard’s full attention. The wand movement and incantation were categorically tricky to get right. A few descendants had taken an entire weekend before they managed to get it right even once. Apparently Malfoy was not that type. He did it non-verbally, barely even looking to see the golden glow fade away in indication that the ward had taken.   
  
And he talked constantly.   
  
Hermione was ready to curse him across the room by the time they reached the end of the first shelf.   
  
He was brimming with gossip, which he apparently assumed she would be eager to hear, given that she literally lived inside a library.   
  
It was aggravating that he was right.   
  
Harry and Ron wrote occasionally, but they were neither of them very good at imparting general information. She tried to stay apprised of things out in the world. But it was an admittedly difficult thing to do. She was quite busy using every spare minute trying to read her way through the entire library before her contract ended.    
  
However, what Hermione considered pertinent information and what Malfoy did was dramatically different. He was, quite possibly, the most unapologetically inane gossip on the entire planet.   
  
Did she know, he inquired, that Pansy had gotten married to Theo Nott? Lovely wedding. Social event of the year. He recited the seating arrangements of the entire guest list. All five hundred of them. And then described in extensive detail how Theo had worn the season’s latest robes in midnight blue with veela hair stars embroidered in various auspicious constellations.   
  
Pansy had worn a lovely boatneck gown with a dropped waist made entirely of layers of pixie lace and a crown of garden roses in her hair. Pansy had been beautiful. Far more beautiful than Hermione would ever be. Hermione was dreadful to look upon and would surely become only more so as time progressed.   
  
Did she know that Amelia Bones had been elected Minister of Magic? Quite the electoral upset. Malfoy had attended her swearing in and could list everyone else who had gotten to attend it too; which he did. Minister Bones’s approval ratings were exceptional. She’d gone toe to toe several times already with the Supreme Mugwump. He recited every legal and parliamentary loophole that Amelia had exploited in order to pass her legislation over the objections of the international confederation. The woman was a veritable battle-axe. She was also more attractive than Hermione, despite being a good forty-five years older and with a face about as nondescript as a beige wall.   
  
Luna Lovegood had just published a book on magical creatures. He wasn’t sure if any of the creatures were actually real, but it had made for some fascinating reading. It also included a charm which, if you activated it, had Luna’s voice narrate the contents. Luna had a very relaxing voice, unlike Hermione’s, which always sounded like someone scraping a fork over a chalkboard.   
  
There was a new statue of the Golden Trio now standing in the middle of Diagon Alley. It was done in the subtractive sculpting style which, he was sure Hermione knew, was the most difficult variety. It was an impressively accurate depiction of Harry and Ron, but the sculptor had apparently never seen a picture of Hermione.   
  
Her statue was insufficiently painful to look upon. The face lacked the sour, puckered expression that was her natural state, and her hair was carved to look like normal human hair, rather than the doxy nest that was its true form. It also implied that she had the proportions of an actual woman. The ministry had probably required it out of concern that if the statue truly resembled her, people would be inclined to cast blinding hexes on themselves in order to avoid looking at it.   
  
Neville Longbottom had just won a botany award for successfully cross-breeding a mandrake with a mimbulus mimbletonia. Longbottom had grown out of his school-age awkwardness to a truly astonishing degree. He had also grown into his teeth, unlike Hermione who had to have hers shrunk or she’d probably be regularly mistaken for a long haired beaver.   
  
Also, did she know? His mother had started a new charity. His mother was a lovely woman. Beautiful and refined and well mannered and possessing all the qualities that Hermione lacked. But then again, Hermione didn’t really possess any qualities besides being an insufferable know-it-all, so that probably explained the disparity.   
  
Hermione’s molars were about to shatter as she ground her jaw tighter and tighter endeavoring not to curse him.   
  
“For Merlin’s sake!” She finally exploded in the fourth room they had re-warded together. “Shut up, Malfoy, or I will punch you in the face the way I did third year.”   
  
Malfoy paused from his non-stop prattling.   
  
“You wouldn’t. I’m too beautiful,” he declared.   
  
Hermione guffawed.   
  
“You are not attractive, Malfoy. Have you seen yourself? Your face is so pointy if I hit you, it would probably break the tip of your nose off. You sneer so much you’re already getting wrinkles from it.” She laughed. “Most people have laugh lines first, I imagine you’ll be the first person in the world who develops sneer lines a decade before.”   
  
Malfoy’s face grew slightly tense with irritation.   
  
“You find my voice aggravating. You should hear your own. Poor little rich boy. Everything about you soft, pathetic and pampered. You’ll probably sob and snivel for weeks when you find your first grey hair. All that money, all this history—” she gestured toward the books around them before continuing,   
  
“—and all it’s made is you: a man-child who fills his head and conversation with nothing but vapid information. If all our accomplishments were lined up beside each other, do you really think your inbred face, inherited money, and endless gossip would outweigh what I have accomplished by my own personal effort?”   
  
She scoffed.“The only people who care solely about appearances, are the ones who know deep down they haven’t got anything else to offer. But please, go on about how unattractive you find me, it only proves the point.”   
  
Malfoy seemed to pale slightly, and Hermione sniffed and turned back to re-warding. He worked silently after that.   
  
Ugh. Somehow that was worse. She felt that perhaps she had gone a bit overboard in insulting him. He was just so irritating. Now that he was silent, she started feeling guilty and worried that maybe she had hurt his feelings.   
  
It wasn’t as though his insults were actually hurtful to her. She didn’t care what he thought of her. It was mostly annoying. But the subdued manner in which he was now performing the spell made her wonder if perhaps she’d actually poked deeply into a real insecurity of his.   
  
She kept glancing surreptitiously over at him, trying to gauge whether he was really upset.   
  
“Stop looking at me!” he abruptly snarled. She jumped slightly.   
  
He leaned against the shelf.   
  
“Is there really no one else in the entire library with whom I can do this?” he groaned.   
  
Apparently she had hurt his feelings.   
  
“Um.” She wracked her mind to trying to remember everyone else’s schedules. “Not really.”   
  
He hissed.   
  
“Fine.”   
  
They continued to work in silence and Hermione mulled over whether she ought to apologize. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure which insult had hurt his feelings. She wasn’t sure she was sorry enough to necessarily take back the whole thing. But maybe she could consider retracting the most hurtful bit, whatever that was.   
  
Was he upset that she said he wasn’t attractive? She supposed maybe he was a little bit—if you liked pointy featured, practically albino men who were too tall, and had unnatural looking eyes.   
  
Maybe it was because she had called him pampered. It was hardly untrue. But maybe calling him soft and pathetic had been a bit much. Or maybe when she called him a man-child that was quite a disappointing result for hundreds of years of purebred breeding. Or said that he had nothing but his appearance to offer the world.   
  
She had maybe been a tiny bit too unrestrained in her verbal smackdown.   
  
She sighed to herself and continued to try pinning down the moment when her insults had hit their mark.   
  
But really, he was an utter prat if he thought he should be allowed to insult her endlessly and then get moody and sulk when she retorted.   
  
Although, his insults had all been mostly restricted to how unattractive she was, while hers had ranged somewhat broadly across his entire character.   
  
Well, it was hardly her fault that there was so much to criticize him about. He was the most vapid conversationalist she had ever encountered. If he was going go memorize something, one would think he would choose something that was actually interesting.   
  
As they walked into the History room, she was abruptly interrupted from her reverie when the library shook and a loud, angry roar was heard in the distance.   
  
There was suddenly a great deal of shrieking as hundreds of the library’s wards activated and started divvying the library into containment areas.   
  
“What is going on?” Malfoy inquired quizzically as a grinding sound occurred, and the stone door to the history room abruptly dropped into place behind them.   
  
Hermione sighed with irritation.   
  
“It’s book in the transfiguration room,” she explained shortly. “It’s recently started transforming itself into a Antipodean Opaleye and wreaking havoc. It can’t cause any permanent damage, but it’s quite large and fast and tends to get into the other rooms and upset the books. It normally takes an hour to catch and subdue it until it re-transfigures.”   
  
She glanced around the history room.   
  
“Well, at least we made it here. The tandem ward is going to take quite a bit of work to get into place.” She sighed and tapped the toe of her shoe repeatedly. “I’d hoped to ask Ignatius to come down and oversee, but I suppose we can just do it ourselves. It’s wearing a bit thin, so we probably shouldn’t wait.”   
  
She pulled out a page from her file and handed it to Malfoy to study.   
  
“We have to hold hands?” he bleated in dismay as soon as he started reading.   
  
“Just at the very end. That bit takes less than a minute— so just— close your eyes and think of England,” she said, rolling her eyes.   
  
Malfoy choked and kept reading.   
  
“Fine.” He said flatly after less than a minute. “I’m ready.”   
  
“You are not. There’s no way you already memorized the entire incantation and wand motion.”   
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes proceeded to recite it while miming the wand motion.   
  
Hermione stared. It had taken her half a day to learn the whole thing. The pronunciation was fidgety and some of the words were very similar, so as to make you easily mix up one with the other and get it all out of order.   
  
It was the most difficult ward she’d ever had to learn.   
  
“How—?” She demanded in astonishment.   
  
“Eidetic memory,” Malfoy said, barely looking at her.   
  
Hermione stood blinking at him as she absorbed the revelation.   
  
Well—wasn’t that the most unfair thing in the world?   
  
Draco Malfoy had an eidetic memory? She was wailing internally with jealousy.   
  
Of all the things she had ever wished for, it topped her list by a long shot. She’d give her left hand to have one.   
  
So that was how he had never appeared to study even though he constantly got excellent marks in school. Of all the injustice in life, this one truly grated. She’d never cared that he was rich, but why did he get to have a photographic memory too?   
  
Her estimation of Draco Malfoy shifted suddenly.   
  
No wonder he was constantly brimming with an absurd amount of detail and information on everything: from the guest list, cut of Pansy’s wedding gown, and floral selection, to all the particulars of Amelia Bones’ legislative battles against the International Confederation. The man remembered literally everything.   
  
She wanted to weep from the unfairness of it. Hermione had to commit information to memory through sheer obstinance and determination. And Malfoy just got to float through life absorbing it endlessly—like a sponge.   
  
She wanted to barrage him with questions. She had never met anyone with the ability before. Sweet Circe, why had she insulted him earlier? He’d probably never tell her now. She would have to apologize. She had a sudden and desperate need to interrogate him about what exactly it was like.   
  
“Whenever you’re quite done gaping," he said, staring snidely down his nose at her.   
  
She shook herself.   
  
“Right. So I guess we’ll start with the first form and move through to the end.”   
  
They both got into position and began. It was almost like a sort of magical dance between their wands as they wove the ward together. Repeating the incantation over and over so that it grew larger and larger until it was big enough to cover the entire room.   
  
It was rather like knitting, one row after the next, hooking the newly cast magic into the strands of the previously made sections.   
  
Malfoy was very good at spell work.   
  
The ward steadily flowed from the tips of their wands, their magical power perfectly balanced and even. She’d expected that they’d have to make several tries before they’d be able to resonate enough magically to complete it. But steadily, steadily, on the first try, they built the entire thing without a single mistake.   
  
Then, at the end, as they had to cast the magic off their wands to settle over the books, she reached out toward Malfoy. He hesitated slightly and then entwined his fingers with hers, gripping her hand firmly.   
  
Just as they reached the final incantation, the library shook—   
  
Violently.   
  
Hermione was so concentrated on the spell that the sudden movement caught her off guard. She stumbled and—dragging Malfoy with her—fell straight into the net of magic they’d just made


	2. Chapter 2

Titles which Hermione Granger would think to give Draco Malfoy: King of Prats; Lord of Gits; insatiable gossip; motormouth; twitchy little ferret; foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach; inbred welp; pointy faced, smarmy bastard.

Titles which Hermione Granger would not think to, nor have any intention of giving Draco Malfoy: surprise husband; future father of her children.

Funny how magic tends to interfere with things.

When Hermione recovered herself she found she was lying on the ground with Malfoy atop her in a suddenly silent library. The screaming wards had abruptly ceased.

That was not a comfort. In her experience it was when screaming abruptly stopped that the most unfortunate things tended to occur.

Malfoy scrambled off of her.

“What happened?” he demanded, glancing around.

Hermione looked slowly around the room.

“Well, we’re still in the library, it seems,” she noted in confusion.

“Breathtaking insight, truly. One hundred points to Gryffindor,” snarked Malfoy, seemingly searching about for his wand.

She looked around, everything appeared normal. Except—the lights were out and there was a sort of blanketed sensation of magic over the room. She suddenly grew horrified.

“We’re in the ward.” She squeaked. “We fell into the ward with the books! Oh sweet Circe!”

Malfoy glanced around confused.

“How is that even possible?”

“It’s how the Library of Alexadria contains some of the books,” she whimpered. “The magic can’t be suppressed but you can channel it into its own dimension. So that it can’t express itself out in the real world. It doesn’t work well with most of the subjects, but they use it in the history room because biographies as old as these ones tend to make ghosts. So we make a ward that allows them to roam about in a sort of—pocket dimension.”

Malfoy looked baffled.

“Why do you need to contain ghosts? Can’t you just let them wander?”

“Because—book ghosts aren’t like regular ghosts. They’re not really ghosts so much as the magic becoming sentient and manifesting as the subject from the book. They can actually become corporeal and sometimes they even use magic. That’s why we can contain and restrict them, but it also means that if we’re in here— they’re as real as we are—and also—related to you.” Her eyes were wide and she kept glancing anxiously around the room.

Suddenly someone giggled.

Someone who wasn’t Malfoy—Hermione had never heard Malfoy giggle, but she imagined if he ever did it wouldn’t be quite so sultry and feminine sounding.

Suddenly a woman emerged from a shelf. Except she was enormous. Nearly six meters tall.

“Oooooh.” The woman cooed. “She’s so clever.

Sweet Circe—it was Circe! Actual Circe, the ancient Grecian enchantress.

Malfoy and Hermione were both gaping as Circe approached them. Towering over them until she was within her arms' reach, then she proceeded to place an enormous hand on Malfoy’s blond head.

“You’re my descendant!” Circe said delightedly, rustling his hair and tickling him behind his ears in a way that seemed to make him look distinctly uncomfortable.

The air shivered as it seemed ghosts popped out of almost every few book in the room. All of them at least a full meter taller than a normal human.

“A descendent?” they were all inquiring and crowding around to appraise Malfoy. Like giant children with a new doll, gently turning him and prodding him as though to inspect him from all angles.

He kept trying to brush them off, but it only seemed to make them crowd around more, chuckling and cooing as though he were an adorable infant. Eventually he seemed to give up and stood there resignedly as they appraised him.

Hermione was terrified by the number of ghosts that she recognized.

Good Merlin, Malfoy was related to everyone. Except, apparently Merlin—whom she didn’t think she saw anywhere.

None of them seemed to even notice her, which Hermione did not mind in the slightest. She was perfectly happy being a dull librarian and allowing Malfoy to be the sole source of fascination. Malfoy had spent his whole life being rich and pompous because of the efforts by the people in this room, if they wanted to poke him—well, they most certainly deserved to.

Hermione wished she could have a turn poking him.

“He’s rather small, isn’t he?” inquired one wizard.

Malfoy flushed and drew himself up.

“I am not—small!” He choked with rage. “I am a perfectly normal, wizard sized male!”

“It’s the magic,” Circe scolded. “Don’t you remember. We get bigger with age. I remember you being quite a bit shorter than him when you appeared.”

The wizard blushed.

“Oh...” cooed Circe, tilting Malfoy’s face up in order to inspect it from all sides. “Isn’t he pretty? Almost like a girl.”

Hermione had to stuff her hand into her mouth to keep from audibly sniggering. Malfoy was spluttering with rage as he tried to free himself.

“Look at that hair and jawline. And those eyes. You must have witches throwing themselves at you all day long.”

“He looks rather pointy faced to me," muttered a square jawed wizard. “And inbred. Probably hasn’t got much endurance to him.”

Apparently that comment was Malfoy’s limit.

“Well, I’m the only descendant you’ve got, so unless you lot all fancy vanishing shortly you’d better hope my endurance is up to par!” He roared with indignation.

The room stilled as all the ghosts stared at him, appearing shocked. Malfoy suddenly looked as though he regretted saying anything.

“Our last descendant?” said a witch that Hermione suspected might be Morgana.

“Of course,” breathed Circe. “Look at how many of us he’s awakened.”

They all glanced around at each other. There were hundreds of them. As they looked back down at Malfoy their eyes were suddenly narrowed and calculating.

Malfoy looked as though he wanted to sink into the floor if it would help him escape.

“Are you married?” Circe inquired in a deceptively casual tone.

“N-no.” Malfoy choked, suddenly looking very nervous and shifty. “But—I will be soon. And I shall most definitely be having at least—twelve children—if not more.”

Circe looked unconvinced. Reaching out with a fingertip she placed it on Malfoy’s forehead for a long moment before tapping him in a way that made his whole body jerk slightly.

“Why aren’t you married?” She inquired.

“Because—” Malfoy gasped, as though the answer were being dragged from him. “The witch I like isn’t interested in me. And—I don’t want anyone else.”

Hermione looked over at Malfoy feeling suddenly sorry for him. That was rotten luck.

She remembered that, aside from an occasional date with Pansy in their eighth year at school, he had been largely and surprisingly celibate. She had suspected that maybe he was gay; most straight men she knew didn’t go on and on for ten minutes about the cut of their best friend’s wedding robes. But apparently not.

She’d read somewhere that Slytherins had a surprising tendency toward deep, unrequited love; they didn’t move on the way most people did, they just kept carrying it.

“Did you ever try to win her? Gift her with a herd of Pegasi, or a thousand slaves? I always loved it when an enchanter gave me few hundred slaves,” Circe inquired looking dreamy.

“Or what about just carrying her off? Witches can never resist a powerful wizard who can kidnap them," suggested a wizard.

Good heavens, some of Malfoy’s ancestors were positively—well—medieval. Obviously.

“Those traditions are generally frowned upon nowadays.” Malfoy said flatly.

“Well then, what did you do to win her?” inquired Circe with a severe expression.

“Nothing.” Malfoy ground out, flushing deep scarlet. “She never pays any attention to me, no matter what I do—unless I’m nasty to her. It’s—the only time she even notices I exist.”

How very Malfoy, Hermione rolled her eyes, it was as though he were an overgrown primary schooler, throwing verbal rocks at the girl he liked.

“So you never really tried,” scolded Circe. “You don’t even know whether or not she really isn’t interested.”

“She’s not,” Malfoy said flatly.

“How do you know?” Morgana inquired.

Malfoy suddenly looked ready to choke to death as he tried to keep from answering the question. After struggling for several seconds he gasped as the words abruptly tore themselves out of him.

“Because she thinks I’m a soft, pathetic, pampered, unattractive, pointy faced, man-child who fills his head with nothing but vapid information and has nothing to offer!” he practically snarled.

Hermione stared at him in utter astonishment as the identity of his unrequited love abruptly dawned upon her.

She gaped at him in shock.

Malfoy was staring angrily at the ground and appeared ready to die of embarrassment.

“Hmm. That is difficult.” Circe sighed and then shrugged. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else. How about her?”

She pointed abruptly at Hermione.

“No...” Draco wailed.

Hermione blanched as she came under the sudden attention of several hundred ancient and powerful ghosts.

“Why not? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

“Yes...” Malfoy whimpered, looking resigned at that point.

Hermione blinked. There was a great deal she would like to process when she was no longer being inquisitively poked.

Circe reached out and touched Hermione’s head and it felt like her fingers somehow seeped into Hermione’s consciousness as well.

“And she’s so smart. And powerful. And your magical resonance is remarkable. She could give you so many powerful children—so many descendants. There’s really nothing else for it. You are not allowed to let your line end just because one witch out there doesn’t return your affections. This one will do very well for you. So it will have to be her. I’m sure she’ll be able to help you move on from that other witch if you’re motivated enough.”

Before Hermione or Draco could say anything in clarification or objection Circe clapped her hands sharply. There was a burning sensation on her left hand and Hermione looked down with horror to find a wedding band appearing on it.

“There now.” said Circe in satisfaction. “That marriage bond will last a good two years or so before it needs to be re-officiated by a living Warlock.”

She stroked Hermione’s head, “And—it’s got a teensy little lust spell woven in. Nothing coercive, of course. Just a little bit—freeing.”

Hermione and Malfoy were staring at one another with horror. Circe reached down and patted them both on the head and Hermione could feel a little shiver of magic go through her.

“After the first time it’ll break you through the ward. You can’t very well live here forever. Now. Let’s not bother the happy couple, they have descendants to make.”

There was a shifting sensation in the air as the ghosts all vanished back into their books, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone with a deafening silence.

Hermione finally spoke.

“If I have to have sex with you here because of a history book it is going to ruin libraries for me!” she wailed.

“Merlin’s hairy balls, I have the _worst_ luck on earth,” Malfoy moaned, flopping onto the floor.

“Did you have to tell them that you were their last descendent?” she inquired flatly after spending a few minutes absorbing all that had unexpectedly occurred.

Malfoy had the grace to blush.

“He insulted my endurance...” he muttered defensively under his breath.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps in the future you should worry less about what a ghost thinks of you and your endurance,” she said severely.

“Duly noted,” Malfoy said with a scowl. “Next time a witch drags me unwillingly into a magical containment dimension filled with my ancestors I promise to hold my tongue no matter what manner of emasculating remarks are made about me.”

“I cannot believe I’m stuck here with you.” Hermione said, her tone full of disbelief. “As much as I have always loved libraries, I never imagined getting married in one, much less in a ceremony officiated by a book.”

She tried tugging the ring off her hand but it wouldn’t budge.

“Really, Granger. I would have thought this kind of wedding was a dream come true for you,” Malfoy said snidely.

“I hardly think I am the one who has been dreaming about this,” Hermione noted tartly, shooting him an appraising glare.

Malfoy blushed. The hollows of his cheeks were practically stained scarlet at this point.

“Honestly, you’re such an unbelievable prat.” Hermione scowled. “How old are you, eight?”

Malfoy picked himself up off the floor, muttering quietly, and stalked over into a corner, apparently to lick the wounds his ego had taken that day.

Hermione glanced around. Her wand was missing, although she was quite sure she’d been holding it when she fell. It must not have passed through the ward.

“Hopefully someone will notice we’re missing soon,” she said to him after a while.

“What exactly do you think the odds are that they’ll think to look for us here?” Malfoy asked, giving her a hard look.

“Um. Well—probably low,” she admitted. “But, ours wands are probably lying out there. So—maybe they will. Assuming time passes as the same rate here as it does out there...”

She suddenly found herself growing pale enough to rival Malfoy’s pastiness.

No one, that Hermione knew of, had ever accidentally fallen into their own dimensional containment ward.

Hooray. She and Malfoy had made history together.

At least, if anyone had done such a thing, they had not come back to tell the tale. Whether you could starve to death or whether the passage of time was the same was completely unknown. It could have been seconds since they had fallen or months or even years.

She wandered around the room trying to find a way to break through the ward.

The magical resonance she and Malfoy had when casting it was quite undeniable. It was a perfectly crafted ward. There were no mistakes or thin spots to be found. It was a ward meant to last thirty years and she and Malfoy had unfortunately done a bang up job of making it.

She couldn’t even summon magic. The fact Circe could wield any in that dimension was probably because of how ancient she was. None of the other ghosts had used any, Hermione realized in retrospect.

After trying everything she could think of, including screaming loudly for help until her voice gave out, she finally subsided in resignation and decided to wait. Hopeful that someone from the library would eventually come for them.

It was so boring.

There was nothing to do. They couldn’t leave the history room, the ward was specifically built around the books in that room.

She was trapped a library and couldn’t even read. Not that the ward made the books illegible but whenever she tried to pull a book off a shelf a ghost would pop out, demanding to know what she was doing poking into their biography rather than shagging their descendent. Eventually she gave up.

It was so dull.

She and Malfoy gave each other wide berth for a while, barely speaking to each other at all.

It seemed as though the ward also functioned as a timelock. It was impossible to say how much time had passed. They never got hungry or thirsty.

They just existed there—mind numbingly bored.

Eventually she caved and started talking to Malfoy. It was that or start talking to herself.

As it turned out he was considerably less of an unbearable prick when he was no longer trying to conceal his crush by needling her to death.

It occurred to her after the first several attempted conversations that he was a nervous talker. Whenever the silence grew slightly awkward he would start prattling. And given his ridiculous memory, once he got started on a subject, he didn’t know how to stop detailing it.

Hermione apparently made him very nervous given the length at which he would carry one.

And then, when he would abruptly realize he was rambling, his immediate reaction was to slip back into his habitual nastiness and start trying to insult her before apparently catching himself, blushing, and stalking off.

After several failed attempts at talking to each other, he finally appeared to have exhausted the bounds of his nervousness. Or maybe they were both just too bored to keep failing at having conversations. Either way, the rambling eventually eased somewhat.

He could actually be surprisingly decent. And smart. The conversations were rather more bearable than she expected

The lust spell worked a bit like being intoxicated. Everything tended to flow more easily.

She found that it made it easy for her talk to him about nearly anything, and they’d even smile and tease in a non-hurtful manner once in a while.

It was a lot like being slightly smashed, except she never felt sleepy, just hornier and hornier. Until she would abruptly realize that she _liked_ staring at pointy featured, practically albino looking men who were too tall and whose unnaturally coloured eyes stared intently at her (when he thought she wasn’t looking) in a way that made her spine tingle.

Sometimes—when he was rambling a bit, she would begin wondering what Malfoy looked like under those perfectly tailored robes of his. That he might look very sexy if the top several buttons of his shirt were undone and his hair was tousled so it fell down over his eyes a bit. And then she’d wonder whether he still played quidditch and, if so, whether he had that lithe, muscular definition that was typical among seekers.

Then she would wonder what he might do if she were climb into his lap and begin nibbling on his ears or possibly snogging him.

Every time Hermione realized her mind was going in that direction she’d blush scarlet and scuttle off into another corner of the history room.

Malfoy, for his part, was gallant enough not to try anything. Even when he looked as though his brain were melting from the sheer tedium of their imprisonment he never brought up the fact that they could leave if she’d just agree to have sex with him once.

Hermione did notice that his eyes tended to start getting darker the longer they talked, and then occasionally he’d become abruptly prickly and stalk off. But the conversations up until that point were—nice.

“Malfoy, why didn’t you ever mention in school that you had an eidetic memory?” She finally inquired at some interminable point in their residence within the containment dimension.

They were both lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling.

She saw him shrug out of the corner of her eye.

“I thought for a long time that you had one too, and everyone thought the way you’d recite whole passages of our textbooks to be unbearably irritating, so, I didn’t really consider it to be something people would be impressed by. Good grief, can you imagine if we’d both been there reciting textbooks? The whole school would have jumped off the astronomy tower.” He sniggered and then continued.

“And it’s not like remembering everything means I understand it. Memorizing all the theory didn’t make me any better at actually performing spells or applying any of it practically. The fact that you tended to be good at both was unbearably annoying once I realized that you didn’t have a memory like mine. It was like realizing the person you were racing only had one leg, but they were still managing to beat you anyway.”

He sounded distinctly peeved as he said it and Hermione felt slightly smug.

“And most people just find it creepy, or treat me like a rememberall. Mentioning it to you was the first time anyone ever looked shocked in a good way, much less envious.” He snorted. “You started looking at me the way most witches do when they learn I’m to inherit a large fortune. Some witches get friendly over the size of my Gringotts vault, but Hermione Granger for the size of my brain.”

Hermione blushed deep red.

“I always wanted an eidetic memory,” she admitted. “I felt terribly jealous.”

“I don’t think you need one,” he said dryly. “As far as useful information and accomplishments go, as you previously noted, you’ve got me soundly beaten.”

Hermione flushed. She was beginning to feel rather bad about all mean things she had said to him. It had clearly gone deep.

“But— it must be so useful, don’t you think?” she argued.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “It gets very crowded. There so much pointless trivia that never goes away. It’s always a lot to sort through in order to find anything useful. And—nothing fades. Everything stays as vivid as the moment it happened. There isn’t really any moving on from anything, just—thinking about something else instead.”

Hermione was silent at that. She hadn’t considered that aspect. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like if all the details from the war were still as vivid as when they’d happened. Or—the moment when someone he liked angrily belittled everything about him.

It was probably difficult to be mature about things when you were never actually able to get over them. And—in that case, being nasty was probably an easy way to create distance from things you didn’t want to care about.

“Malfoy,” she finally said, “I think—I was wrong about you—“

“Don’t.” He cut her off. “You don’t need to be nice to me because I’ve got a crush.”

“I’m not,” she said, turning to look at him. “You—are more complicated than I realized. I didn’t see that before.”

He glanced over at her for a moment before looking back up at the ceiling.

“And—,“ she continued, “not that it was the most important point, but I was lying when I said you weren’t attractive. You’re really not half bad looking.”

“Well, at least there’s that.” He snorted.

“Your face—,“ Hermione searched for the right way to put it. “suits you.”

“I have to admit, when I was a little wizard, I used to aspire to slightly higher than that,” he said in a snide voice.

She blushed.

“I just mean that generally speaking I do not object to how you look.”

“I shall cherish those words,” he said with false solemnity. “Truly Granger, you know how to make a wizard blush.”

After a moment he added, “Not that being here with you an eternity isn’t a delight, but how much time do you feel has passed?”

“It’s hard to say when there’s no physical sense of it. At least two weeks. Maybe a month even.”

“That’s about what I had guessed.”

“I bet none of our friends would have thought we’d be able to be locked together in a room this long without murdering each other,” she joked.

“Well, we’re not out yet. We’ve still probably got another twenty-nine years and eleven months to go. Give us time,” Malfoy said dryly.

“Do you—,“ Hermione started and then blushed and stopped herself. “Should we—maybe—at least talk about just—leaving.”

Malfoy’s expression as he turned to look at her was decidedly cagey.

“Getting bored are you?”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “Among other things.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“You know—,“ she said awkwardly. “The lust spell.”

Malfoy sat up and stared.

“Lust spell?”

Hermione stared at him.

“Yes. The one in the marriage bond. Circe mentioned it. Didn’t you hear her?”

“No—,“ Malfoy choked. “She did not.”

“She said she was including a lust spell, she called it “not coercive but freeing”. So—you’re not under it? Only me?” Hermione gaped.

He leapt to his feet.

“Circe!!” He roared. “You great bloody bint! Get out here and take the damn lust spell off of Granger! And take this truth charm off me while you’re at it! Or I swear I will rip your bloody biography to pieces with my teeth. And unless you fancy my being your last descendant there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me!”

That same sultry, feminine giggle suddenly bounced off the walls of the History room as Circe re-emerged from her book. Draping herself across the top of the bookshelves.

“Finally figured that out then? Did you?” She sniggered.

“You already bloody well knew that it was Granger I liked. You don’t think I couldn’t feel you poking about in my head before you put that truth charm on me? Putting her under a lust spell is completely indecent,” Malfoy raged.

“Well, obviously I knew, but a fat lot of good that does for anybody. The important person to have know was her. You needed a chance to be honest for a while. And she needed an opportunity to see you with all new eyes. So,” Circe shrugged indifferently as she examined her nails, “truth charm and alleged lust spell.”

“Alleged?” Hermione gasped.

Circe’s smirk turned positively evil.

“Inebriation charm. There’s no concept of time here, so the sleepiness doesn’t kick in. Little Malfoy here really isn’t so awful on the eyes, now is he?”

Hermione felt just about ready to die of embarrassment. Was the mere suggestion of lusting over Malfoy all it took to prompt her to start mentally undressing him?

“Just let us out you great bloody bint, and take all your spells off.”

Malfoy was still fuming but looking suddenly less enraged.

“Fine.” Circe sighed and snapped her fingers. The fuzzy sensation upon Hermione abruptly vanished.

“Ahem,” grated Malfoy, holding up his hand to show that the wedding band still remained.

“Oh. I can’t take that off. That’ll last two years. Nothing I can do about it.” Circe shrugged and then rolled onto her side slightly so she could smirk directly down at them as she continued. “You see, there’s something I should probably mention now. I can’t get you out of here.”

“What?” Hermione and Draco gasped in horror.

“But—you—said—,“ Hermione spluttered.

“Yes. You may recall this ward is specifically designed to contain magic like me. So, truly. Not lying this time around. I cannot get you out. If you want to leave you’ll have go wait thirty years for the ward to give out, or make—sex magic!” Circe sang the last words brightly. “Ghosts can’t have sex, you know. Not even ghosts made out of sentient magic. It doesn’t count. We have tried.”

Hermione and Malfoy looked distinctly uncomfortable with this information.

“Anyway,” Circe continued airily. “The only type of magic that breaks through is sex magic. And you’re both young and hotblooded—despite how repressed you both are—the likelihood that you’re really going to take thirty years to leave is quite low. And I do need descendants and I’d rather have them be legitimate. So the marriage bond seemed like an obvious solution. But—the odds of a descendant occurring in one go are really just atrociously small. And poking around in your mind, little Malfoy, it was quite clear you haven't got any true resolve when it comes to getting over this crush of yours.”

Malfoy flushed slightly.

“So—this was really the perfect opportunity for matchmaking. That little witch of yours is just brimming with willingness to offer second chances. You just needed to stop being such cruel little cretin for a little while. So, truth charm and 'lust' spell. Worked rather well, I must say. Anyway—you’re all up to speed on how this works now. So. Really. It’s all up to you.”

She fluttered a seductive wink at them and then vanished without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

“So—,“ Hermione choked, after they had both stood staring up at top of the bookshelf for several minutes.

“Right...” Malfoy said lamely. “Um. So, twenty-nine years and eleven months to go then.”

Hermione stared at him speculatively.

“You don’t—you don’t think we should at least—I don’t know, maybe try kissing?” she asked awkwardly.

He appeared to pale slightly at the question.

“I mean—I know it’s just a crush.” She clarified. “And Merlin knows I’ve had crushes on people I wouldn’t actually want to kiss. Gilderoy Lockhart, for one. So—obviously—I’m not trying to presume—but anyway, we don’t need to talk about this.”

Hermione didn’t think she had ever had such an awkward conversation in her life. Her face felt as though she had set it on fire. She started to turn away but then abruptly turned back.

“But, is it honestly that awful of an idea?” she demanded, beginning to feel offended. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s going to come looking for us and whether or not we’re each other’s first choice in sexual partners it’s more pragmatic than living in here together for thirty years. Even if you do have a general rule of not sleeping with muggleborns or whatever.”

Malfoy was looking distinctly peaked.

“Never mind,” Hermione fumed and stormed away.

She made it about ten steps before she suddenly felt a hand on her wrist and she was spun around as Malfoy’s lips crashed into her own.

It should be noted, when she’d suggested kissing, she’d meant just a quick, closed lip, smooch for—research purposes, obviously—to determine whether there was any chemistry between them.

Apparently Malfoy had a more extensive investigation in mind.

He backed her up into a bookshelf and pinned her there as he kissed her deeply.

Hermione had always had a secret fantasy about snogging and, ahem—having sex, in a library. One which she had never intended to indulge in, given that there was most certainly a rule against it.

So, it was possible that snogging anyone right then and there would have resulted in lighting her insides up like a Christmas tree.

But—speaking from an entirely empirical standpoint, Draco Malfoy was an excellent kisser.

Not wet and uncertain or stabby and overly invasive, he was fiery and intentional. His lips were hot against hers and he was a utter tease as he nipped and flicked and peppered kisses against her lips until she was gasping against him and he finally started languorously teasing her tongue with his own in a way that made her moan.

In fact, it rather seemed as though Draco Malfoy had no questions or doubt at all regarding their chemistry and had an entirely different field of research in mind as he snogged Hermione’s brains out. He seemed far more interested with compiling a geological survey on her mouth and ascertaining the precise topography of every bit of her body currently within his reach.

His hands were roaming over her from her thighs up to the top of her head. Over her clothes but quite thoroughly nonetheless. Gripping her, kneading her, palming her. Lifting her leg tight up against him before wandering on to squeeze her bum and slide his hand against the small of her back as he ground himself against her before sliding his fingers on to span her waist. Meanwhile his other hand was tangled in her hair. Angling her perfectly so he could kiss her deeply before slowly sliding his fingers down the column of her throat, over her shoulder, and then lightly across her covered breasts so that she whimpered and arched against him.

Now—Hermione may have had smaller scientific ambitions initially, but she was hardly one to let such a research opportunity pass her by without seizing it.

She tangled her fingers his hair and ruffled it the way she’d been dying to. Then she slid her hands down along his jaw and the tendons of his neck to hold his shoulders. Confirming her hypothesis that he most certainly did possess lithe muscular build of a seeker. She could feel the sinew of his muscles under his robes and the hard, flat planes of his body as he pressed himself against her.

The way her body reacted him seemed unnaturally heightened. Maybe Draco Malfoy was some sort of sex god, or maybe she was just exceptionally stressed and sex deprived—she had lived in a bloody library for two years and she hadn’t had much time to date at the ministry either. Not to mention that she’d been lusting and fantasizing about him nonstop for what felt like weeks now.

But why she was aroused didn’t feel entirely pertinent.

Draco Malfoy was setting her entire body on fire beneath his capable hands and if anyone or anything tried to interrupt him she would curse them within an inch of their life. She was gasping and writhing as his lips and tongue continued to caress hers and his hands slid slowly over her body.

Then abruptly he stepped back, leaving her slumped against the bookshelf, gasping for air as she tried to refrain from shrieking indignantly at him for stopping.

“So—kissing,” he rasped.

“Mmm,” she agreed.

“Nice,” he noted.

“Mmhm...” She whimpered slightly as she noticed that some point she had started unbuttoning his shirt and indeed, Draco Malfoy was quite sexy looking when his robes were slightly askew and his shirt undone and his hair ruffled and falling over his eyes. She wanted to sink into a puddle of arousal from the mere sight of him.

The fact that he was still capable of formulating actual words was really irritating.

She wondered if he’d still be able to talk if she were so start slipping her clothes off and purring, “Shag me, Draco.”

Probably. Motormouthed prat.

Weren’t males supposed to be the aggressive, pushy ones? The ones who acted like they might die if a witch refused to have sex with them?

Hermione currently felt like she might die if he refused to have sex with her. Although whether it would be from sexual frustration or the boredom of being trapped for thirty years in a dimensional containment ward she wasn’t entirely certain.

Of all the wizards in the world, how did she end up there with the one who was an excellent snogger, unjustly attractive, and also apparently had the sexual self-restraint of a devoted monk?

She had never pegged Draco Malfoy as overflowing with restraint. Who would given how endlessly he seemed to talk? Yet Hermione was the one currently slumped against a bookshelf and Malfoy was the one standing upright, about five hundred words into some rambling explanation of a convoluted math puzzle he’d invented involving the library’s numerical organization system.

She was currently incapable of focusing on it in her current state of mind.

What her mind was focused on was his mouth. How his clavicles were showing in the opening of his shirt. The faint definition of his pectorals. How long his fingers were. And that she could most definitely tell that he was indeed aroused at the moment, regardless of how many maths problems he wanted to pretend he was telling her about.

“So—,“ Malfoy was saying, “given that all the books in this room end in odd numbers, it can be quite diverting to choose a random book, add all the numbers together, and then either add or subtract seven until you get to a prime number, and try to see if that number assignation also exists in this room...”

He seemed to finally notice that Hermione was not paying any attention. “So anyways I’m going to go do that.”

And without another word he bolted down the aisle and disappeared around the corner.

Hermione sank to the floor and spent several minutes trying to compose herself. She decided that compiling a list of bullet points might be a good thing to focus on.

First point: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had so much sexual chemistry it was likely to set a room on fire. 

Second point: If they didn’t have sex they were going to be stuck in the history room for thirty years and Hermione would probably murder him out of sheer sexual frustration and boredom.

Third point: Malfoy was, for some reason, opposed to snogging or to having of sex unless pressed.

Fourth point: It was possible Malfoy was a virgin—but that seemed unlikely because he seemed like far too good a kisser. However, in the event that he was—well, that would be difficult. It would not be appropriate to try convincing him have sex with her if he were saving his virginity for something like actual marriage not caused by sentient magical books.

Fifth point: Assistant Librarian Hermione Granger, if she wanted to fulfill her work contract, reach her goal of reading all the books in the Library of Alexandria, keep her mental faculties intact, and not end up imprisoned for murdering the Malfoy heir, needed to convince him to have sex with her— assuming he was not a virgin. In which case, well, perhaps there would be future bullet points—if it came to that.

Hermione got to her feet and set out to find Malfoy. The heels of her oxfords tapped loudly against the stone floor as she stalked through the aisles.

When she finally found Malfoy he was standing awkwardly in an aisle looking strangely suspicious.

She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Draco Malfoy...” she hissed with indignation. “Are you hiding back here and tossing off?”

“N-no!” he protested, looking aghast.

“Really?” she said, her voice laced with skepticism, “In case you’ve forgotten, I once lived for in a tent for several months with adolescent boys. If you think you can fool me just by standing at an angle you have most certainly under-estimated me.” She seethed. “You unforgivable little snake! How dare you snog me like that and then leave me there while you wandered away to get off alone.”

“Wait—?“ Malfoy choked. “That’s what you object to?”

“Of course. What did you think I’d object to?” she demanded. “For Merlin’s sake, we clearly have a sufficient amount of chemistry, why earth are you pretending to be solving maths puzzles back here?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’m not going to take the virginity of the girl I like just to get out of a bloody ward. I do actually have some standards,” he said, looking at her with irritation.

“I’m not a virgin, you great pillock!” Hermione exploded.

Malfoy froze.

“You’re not?”

“No. Why do you think I’m a virgin?” Hermione demanded hotly. “I thought you were the one who might be a virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin!” he snapped indignantly before returning once more to his previous question. “You’re really not a virgin?”

“No!” Hermione barked. The conversation was getting aggravatingly circular.

“You’re sure?” He was staring at her with a face full of skepticism.

“Well, I don’t think I imagined it. Why on earth are you so convinced I’m a virgin?”

“Oh I don’t know, Granger. Maybe because of the general aura of virginal-ness that hangs about your person. Or the fact that you went and decided to move into a library for three years!”

“Being proper and choosing to become a librarian here doesn’t mean I can’t or haven’t had sex, Malfoy. For Merlin’s sake you are the most incomprehensible person I have ever met.”

“Well, I do apologize for mistaking you for a virgin. In my defense you are the most prudish individual I have ever been acquainted with,” he retorted.

“If you find me so overwhelmingly prudish why on earth are you attracted to me? I’m sure there are loads of sex kittens out there who would be happy for dip into your Gringotts vault. Why don’t you go pining after one of them?”

“I have no fucking clue why I can’t. If I could reason my way out of it I would have bloody well done it by now,” he snapped.

“Fine.” Hermione said flatly with a roll of her eyes. “Well, since we’ve finally established that nobody’s a virgin and that’s apparently the only hang up, let’s just have sex and we can each go on our merry ways.”

Malfoy’s jaw unhooked itself slightly and he stared down at her. After a long silence he seemed to collect himself.

“Fine.”

But then he immediately turned heel and stalked away.

“Where are you going now?” Hermione demanded indignantly.

Goddamn Malfoy and his fucking sexual restraint.

Hermione Granger, it should be noted, did not generally classify herself as someone who swore. But she had never been so horny in her entire life and mentally cursing at Malfoy seemed to relieve some of the frustration.

He paused.

“If I’m going to have sex with you once, Granger. I’m not going to do it while I’m angry,” he hissed.

Then he vanished into the darkened aisles.

Hermione stood there staring after him for several seconds.

Well, that was a lot of unexpected turns.

Draco Malfoy was so incredibly frustrating, ridiculously presumptuous, and unexpectedly—sweet. A term she had never expected to apply to him. All his inexplicable behavior suddenly made more sense.

One would think that a Slytherin, after crushing on a girl for ages, would jump at the opportunity to have sex with her in order to escape from a magical ward. That would be the reasonable assumption. But no—of course Malfoy would go decide to be noble and whatnot out of consideration for her supposed virginity.

She wasn’t that virginal seeming, was she? Just because she wore practically fitted clothing and generally tried to follow rules didn’t mean she also went about in starched knickers.

She sighed and leaned against a shelf as she mulled him over in her brain for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Good grief, had he really been holding out this whole time because he didn’t want to pressure her because he thought she was a virgin?

Where exactly did Draco Malfoy get off with being such a nasty, prickly, sharp tongued git while secretly concealing the heart of a teddy bear?

She supposed, another pertinent point in all this was his magical memory abilities. Which meant that, for him, having sex with her was going to become a vivid, unfading memory for the rest of his life. She honestly wasn’t sure whether he’d regard as being a good thing or completely awful. Maybe it would depend on how it went.

 _That_ would be enough to make anyone nervous.

So it was understandable why he wouldn’t want to be angry when they had sex. That would be a depressing memory to carry about for forever.

Thinking about all of that was causing strange tugging sensations to occur in her chest. Maybe she was catching some dimensional containment ward disease or it was a side effect from existing without aging for a month.

She mulled over the sex some more.

She—should probably try to be more considerate to Malfoy about all this. It was obviously a lot more emotional for him than for her. She could just be logical and pragmatic about it all. But out of consideration to him she would try to be sensitive.

She wandered around the history room trying to decide where the most logical place would be to have sex. In the end she stopped at the reading table. It was either that or basically anywhere on the floor. At least they 'd have options if she waited there.

It was extremely weird to be sitting on the edge of a table waiting and thinking about casually having sex with someone. Especially when that someone was Malfoy.

Prior to Circe marrying them Hermione had thought about having sex with Draco Malfoy precisely never. Since then—she’d thought about it rather a lot.

She should probably be approaching it clinically: pop in and out, leave the ward, good working with you, Malfoy, goodbye. But, the truth was, she was nearly wriggling in her seat with excitement from the thought. She wanted to have sex, specifically with Malfoy, for non-ward escaping purposes.

This rather surprised Hermione because she was really not the casual sex type. Relationships generally needed a lot of warming up before she was inclined to take the leap into bed. It wasn’t just some itch she felt comfortable having any John or Dick scratching for her. In fact, generally speaking, it wasn’t an itch she tended to even notice.

Somehow spending all that time with Malfoy had turned him into someone she felt comfortable being sexually keen for. Which was a thought that should horrify her but didn’t. He was nicer (and better at snogging) than she could have imagined.

And also—another point worth noting, she had always wanted to have sex in a library. And now she was going to get to—with a justifiable cause!—it was rather a dream come true. That detail was definitely having an effect upon her enthusiasm.

She didn’t want the sex with him to be clinical. Or classified as an unfortunate workplace incident best forgotten. She wanted it to be hot, steamy, and excellent so she could keep it as a memory forever. And she wanted to offer the same experience to Malfoy since she knew it would be an event he’d never forget—

Even if he wanted to.

She stilled.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want him to feel cornered by her. That would be incredibly unkind and unfair.

The realization of his exceptional memory had initially overwhelmed her with jealousy but the more she got to know him the more she realized what a burden he found it. A mind crowded with memories he didn’t want.

And—ever since she’d insulted him while they were re-warding he’d withdrawn.

Looking back, she realized she’d been the aggressor the whole time they’d been trapped there. The initiator of all their conversations. Of their kiss. Of the decision to have sex. She’d push for something and he’d give in. But—he hadn’t actually solicited her attention in any way. Maybe he hadn’t even wanted it.

He probably didn’t want any more memories involving her. Possibly at all. The thought twisted a bit inside of her.

She slipped off the table where she’d been sitting and went to find him.

He was leaning against a bookshelf, staring pensively off into space.

Whatever he was thinking about it, it seemed to have taken him far away because he didn’t notice her approaching until she got close. Then his expression abruptly changed and became closed as he looked down at her.

“Can’t wait anymore? Something urgent you need to get to?” he inquired flatly.

She felt stung.

She gnawed at her lip for a moment while she stared at him, trying to formulate what she wanted to say.

“No,” she said quietly. “I was just coming to find you to say we don’t need to.”

She felt cold as she said it and hugged herself slightly as she continued.

“You clearly don’t feel comfortable with it. And I—don’t want to do that to you. We can just wait—It’s fine. As you’ve noted, I live in a library. There’s no one looking for me.”

Her voice sounded bitter as she said the last words. She flushed. She hadn’t meant to make it about her.

He was eyeing her sharply.

“Sorry,” she said abruptly. “I’m not trying to complain. I was just pointing that out so you wouldn’t worry about it. This is obviously all a lot more complicated for you than it is for me. I understand that. You don’t need to force yourself into anything on my account.”

She gritted her teeth and added in a small voice.

“And I’ll leave you alone from now on. I didn’t realize—how memories were for you until now. Sorry.”

She turned to go. Maybe she’d go do the maths puzzle he’d told her about, that would keep her mind occupied for a bit. And then maybe she could try mentally translating pepperup potion into Ancient Runes. Or go bother a ghost. Maybe they’d let her read or at least talk to her if she told them that their descendent was the one who didn’t want to have sex with her.

“Granger,” Malfoy groaned. “You are the most frustrating person I have ever met. And I mean that both intellectually and sexually.”

She stilled.

“Funny,” she retorted in a brittle voice. “I feel the same way about you.”

He was walking toward her. She could feel him approaching from behind, but she didn’t want to turn around and look at him. He was too frustrating to look at—both intellectually and sexually.

But her spine couldn’t seem to help itself from tingling as he got closer to her.

“Do you really think I don’t want to have sex with you?” he inquired in a low voice over her shoulder.

She fought the urge to shiver.

“You haven’t even talked to me in here without my initiating it,” she said stiffly.

“Well, you did tell me that my conversation was nothing but vapid information and endless gossip,” he pointed out.

“Yes, well, you were being rather horrendously mean to me at the time,” she replied.

“And I seem to recall being the one who initiated that kiss earlier.”

“Only after I practically demanded that you do it.”

“I assumed my interest in such things was already established.”

“Well, it’s not,” she said stiffly. Trying to ignore the flood of relief she was experiencing. “Just because you have a crush on me doesn’t make it immediately obvious that you actually want to have anything to do with me. Especially given the number of times you’ve gone into great detail about how much you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Yes, well, I’m a considerably better liar than you are,” he observed.

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised to hear that I don’t know when you’re telling the truth.”

“Well, up until a few hours or so ago I’ve been under a truth charm. So pretty much anything I’ve said since we’ve been here is true.”

Hermione hadn’t really thought of that. She hadn’t realized it until he’d started shouting at Circe, and then she had gotten rather distracted by the embarrassing revelation she hadn’t been under an actual lust spell.

All the occasions when he’d gone stalking off, muttering under his breath suddenly made more sense. And how he’d never managed to get a full insult out when he’d gotten embarrassed about rambling.

“But...“ he voice was suddenly very low and close to her ear. “For the record, despite how virginal and prudish I find you—”

Hermione bristled internally even as she fought against the urge to shiver as his breath ghosted over her skin.

“I am very attracted to you. And I’m dying to fuck your brains out if you’ll let me,” he murmured as his hand slid along her neck and rested over her throat.

Hermione gave a shuddering moan as he brushed her hair to the side and started kissing his way along her neck.

She could barely keep standing as his other hand slid around her waist and pulled her firmly against him.

“Is that a yes, Granger?” he inquired.

“Yes...” she gasped, turning and crashing their lips together.

Nevermind the reading table, the floor would do well enough, or even against a book shelf. There was an arousing thought. Ugh, Merlin, she’d never wanted to shag anyone so much.

She rapidly shoved his robes off his shoulders and set to work unbuttoning his shirt. Maybe it was wanton of her, but if he called her virginal or prudish again she might bite him. She was eager to banish the illusion. She did not want any sweet, soft, sugary sex. She wanted hot, fiery, she-only-had-one-chance-to-live-out-her-fantasy-of-having-sex-in-a-library sex.

She wanted to sigh with relief when she got his shirt completely unbuttoned and relegated it onto the floor with his robes.

Seeker fit indeed.

She pushed him back against a bookshelf and pinned him there as she slid her hands along his shoulders and scraped her teeth over his left nipple so that he hissed.

“Merlin, Granger,” he gasped in a strangled voice as she tweaked his other nipple with her fingers and then pressed herself against him, standing on her toes to pepper kisses along his clavicles. “You’re quite determined to disabuse me of my miscomprehension regarding your maidenliness.”

Only Draco Malfoy would use a five syllable word when a witch was licking her way down his torso.

She glared up at him.

“For Merlin’s sake, shut up, you prat,” she ordered.


	4. Chapter 4

 

He snapped his mouth shut obediently.

The sight of him, shirtless and dark eyed, leaning against a bookshelf as he stared down at her was the sexiest thing Hermione had ever laid eyes on. The image was going to stay with her forever.

The silence lasted for all of thirty seconds.

“Sorry. I can’t stop talking yet,” he announced straightening and she nearly groaned. “You’re still wearing too many clothes. I’ll stop talking when you’re naked.”

He smirked as Hermione fought between the urge to smack him or let him undress her.

“Fine,” she grumbled as he pulled her into his arms. “But I get to smack you if you use another five syllable word.”

“Fine, you violent muggle-born,” he agreed as he slid her robes off her shoulders to pool at her feet and began unbuttoning her blouse. “Just allow me to tell you how lascivious, libidinous, and concupiscent you make me.”

Hermione gritted her teeth.

“Four syllables again and I’m smacking you...” she tried to threaten. But her voice faded away into a whimper as his hands slid down her back as he pulled her shirt off and started kissing down her sternum and in between her breasts.

“I have to admit,” he muttered as he peeled the cup of her bra off of one breast and started teasing it. “I was slightly chagrined to realize you aren’t as pure as I always imagined you.”

Hermione stiffened slightly. If Draco Malfoy revealed himself to be a chauvinist pig just then it was going to have a severe dampening affect upon her mood.

“I had all these fantasies about corrupting you that I’m going to have to lay to the wayside,” he expounded. “But—the revelation that you were wearing a red lace bra this entire time has me completely over it. Good Merlin, why didn’t I seduce you sooner?”

Hermione snorted.

“A witch is entitled to her secrets. Did you expect me to mention it when you were going on and on about how I was the most unattractive woman you had ever laid eyes on and how the sight of me was enough to make people blind themselves?”

“Lies. All lies. I swear,” he said penitently. “Although, if you had mentioned it I probably would have started seducing you in the first room we re-warded.”

“You didn’t seduce me.” She scoffed. “If anything I seduced you.”

“Maybe I was playing hard to get,” he proposed.

Hermione sniggered.

“Is that what that was?” she inquired as he unzipped her skirt and slid it down her hips.

“Matching knickers.” He groaned. “Fucking hell. Yes. Let’s go with that. This whole month was a long elaborate attempt to seduce you.”

“Yes. Virgins do have a weakness for wizards sulking in corners playing maths puzzles with a library’s numerical organization system,” she quipped and then gasped as he wrapped his mouth around a nipple and started sucking on it so that she collapsed slightly into his arms.

He laid her out on his robes and stared down at her. His eyes were practically black.

“Lets call it a mutual seduction,” he finally said after staring at her for a minute.

“If you’ll stop talking I’ll agree to call it anything you want,” she told him.

“You’re not naked yet.” He growled and leaned over and started kissing her while his hands began roaming over her mostly naked body.

“Fuck. I have spent a considerable amount of time imagining you under those generously sized robes of yours and I must say I failed to do you justice. Your knickers and bra have left me undone.”

“Malfoy...” Hermione said between gritted teeth as she fought not to arch against him. This was her one and only chance to shag someone in a library and Malfoy was currently bollocking it entirely up. “I’m going to confess now, I have had a fantasy about having sex in a library for longer than I care to admit. But none of the versions I’ve ever devised have involved this much talking.”

Malfoy stilled and then, to her horror, sat up to stare at her again.

“Good Merlin,” he breathed. “You have no idea how many times I have imagined shagging you in the restricted section of Hogwarts.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione nodded as primly as she could for wearing nothing but bra, knickers, and oxford heels while lying beneath a half naked wizard. “Quietness, as you may recall, is a general aspect of libraries.”

“Ohhh...” He chuckled softly. “Now I understand.”

Malfoy’s smirk became positively sinful as he leaned down and purred in her ear so softly she had to strain to hear him.

“I’m going to make you scream, Granger. Best keep it in.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep from whimpering and nodded.

Then he kissed her and it was toe curling as their bodies pressed against each other. Long slow, languorously passionate—but then...

Hermione should never have told Malfoy about her fantasy.

The man was evil incarnate. He became utterly silent and taunting as he slid down her body, kissing and nipping and teasing until she’d gasp or quietly moan and then he’d immediately stop, look up, and shush her before continuing. Unclasping her bra and pulling it off so that he could tease her breasts until her nipples ached from how hard they’d grown.

It wasn’t hot, fast, fiery sex but it wasn’t slow, sugary sex either. It was torture. He made his way all the way up and down her body several times. Discovering details even she hadn’t known about, like the sensitivity of her Achilles’ tendons and inner calves.

By the time he made his way up to snog her for the third time she was ready to weep with frustration. As he kissed along her jaw she gave a shuddering whimper and he paused slightly and murmured in her ear.

“Hush now. The assistant librarian is nearby and she’s got the most terrifying pinched look of disapproval you’ll ever see on a woman.”

Hermione was going murder him. As soon as he shagged her. She was going to murder him.

“Malfoy, if you don’t shag me soon I will just get myself off,” she muttered in his ear.

He pulled back to stare at her.

“I would love to see that,” he growled.

Oh Merlin, she’d made it worse.

“Please, Malfoy,” she gritted out.

“Call me Draco,” he ordered huskily.

“Please, Draco.”

She was whimpering. She was begging. She was going to kill him later. But right now she needed to have sex with him.

He slid his hand down and ran his fingers lightly over her knickers and she arched up, desperate for more contact. Then he hooked his fingers around her knickers and pulled them off.

He slid his fingers over her folds and sank one into her. An unmuffled moan tore itself from her lips and Draco immediately clamped a hand over her mouth to smother it. Bloody Merlin, this was an exact fantasy of hers.

“Shhhhhh. We’re in a library, Hermione Granger,” He murmured to her as he added a second finger and pumped into her with agonizing slowness.

She was going to die if he kept teasing her like this.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to forgive myself for not realizing you had a library kink during the last year of Hogwarts. You are so sly. Did you wear lace knickers then too?” he inquired in a low but conversational tone of voice.

She pulled his hand off her mouth.

“You said you were going to shut up when I was naked,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Make me,” he taunted her softly.

Fuck him.

She wrenched herself away from his hands pounced him. Kissing him with a vengeance.

He gathered her into his arms and fell back against a shelf. She was grinding herself against his lap as she pressed her whole body against his and kissed him punishingly.

He deserved to suffer after teasing her like that.

She pinched his nipples until he hissed and then dragged her nails down his torso. Nipping his lips hard as she slid one hand down into his trousers to grip him and ensure he was as achingly aroused as she was.

“Fuck me, Hermione,” he groaned against her lips as she slid her hand up and down his rigid cock. His hands were still sliding over her body and tugging at her hair.

“I won’t yet, you git,” she muttered vengefully.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. His eyes went wide as she dropped her head down and started licking his nipples the way he had mercilessly teased her own. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you.”

“Shhhhh.” She purred in his ear before nipping it lightly. “We’re in a library, Draco Malfoy. The assistant librarian is a virginal prude with starched knickers. If she finds you she’ll make you write lines.”

He made a choking sound.

“You must know a different librarian than I do,” he said in a strangled voice. “The one I know is secretly a minx and so fucking sexy I think it may kill me.”

“Sexy librarian fantasies now, Malfoy?” she inquired as she continued to make him grow harder and harder in her hand.

“It’s a new one I’m trying.” He whimpered. “Oh, Merlin, Granger, please let me up so I can shag you.”

“Make me,” she taunted.

That was apparently all the permission he needed. He promptly flipped her onto her back as he quickly relieved himself of his trousers and pants.

She cradled him between her hips as he aligned himself and sank into her.

“Oh fuck, Granger, you are so perfect,” He groaned as he began moving in her.

She canted her hips and hooked her heels behind his thighs trying to drive him to move quicker. She wanted it hard and fast, to feel him lose control.

She wanted to _watch_ him lose control.

But he wouldn’t waver.

Good Merlin, where did Malfoy get his sexual restraint? No one who talked so much should be capable of possessing such a ridiculous quality of self-control. Was he secretly into tantric sex or something?

The was no interrupting his intentional, controlled, movement.

He slid into her with slow, steady, deep thrusts and smirked like a fiend as he did it.

“I told you I was going to make you scream,” he muttered when she began whimpering. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”

Hermione made an incoherent moan in response.

If she could have formed words she would have snapped that he had a bloody eidetic memory so obviously not, but her word forming abilities were temporarily disabled.

Stupid, stupid prat. This was the worst best thing that had ever happened to her.

How on earth could someone so ridiculously blond and talkative and purebred manage to be so absurdly good at sex? And how had she managed to fall into a dimensional containment ward with him? The sheer absurdity of the situation was still mind-boggling.

His hand slid down between their bodies and he found her center. Slowly, with the most agonizingly light touches, he began to tease her.

So softly...  
Her nerves felt like they were on fire.

He kept moving steadily even as she writhed and arched under him. Hitting her perfectly as he thrust inside her so that the tightening desire consuming her grew nearly unbearable; her whole body wound itself more and more taut.

It just kept building and building until she was trembling under him.

A loud wailing whimper wrenched itself past her lips as she neared the edge and he immediately clamped his other hand over her mouth.

“Quiet,” he purred.

She shuddered as she tried to keep from moaning again.

He stared deep into her eyes with his own unnaturally grey eyes, his narrow, aristocratic face just centimeters from her own.

“Come for me, Hermione,” he murmured coaxingly.

His fingers slid and teased against her sensitive nub a few times more and she shattered with a sobbing, keening cry. Muffled against his palm.

When she stopped shaking he pulled his hand away from her mouth and kissed her gasping lips; tangling his fingers in her hair as he increased his speed.

Faster and deeper.

She was practically mindless from the intensity of sensation. Barely even conscious of anything else until she felt him surge inside her as he jerked and slumped down.

Instantly a wave of utter exhaustion struck her and she drifted off, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him.

He wasn’t such a prat...

“Shit! Granger, don’t kill me but please wake up.”

Hermione found herself abruptly jerked awake by the sensation of Malfoy draping something over her. Cracking open a groggy eye she realized with faint bewilderment the lights were on.

The lights were on—

They were out of the ward.

Her eyes widened as she abruptly sat up looking around wildly and found—

Malfoy sitting beside her, equally naked, staring up at an stunned Ignatius Pigglesworth.

“Now, I know how this may look,” Malfoy was saying with astonishing dignity. “But there is actually an extremely compelling explanation for this.”

Ignatius’ eyebrows looked as though they were about to climb up and take residence within his receding hairline.

“Miss Granger—you’ve returned,” he finally said.

Hermione’s face was bright red as she sat on the floor clutching Malfoy’s robe in front of herself.

“How long was I gone?” she squeaked.

“Ah. Um. About three weeks now. We thought you had run away. Especially when the news of your marriage emerged following your disappearance.”

“News of my marriage?” she yelped.

“Er—Yes. The wedding bond department in Britain brought attention to it after you and Mr Malfoy were both filed as being missing. Turned into rather big news I believe.”

“Oh Merlin,” Malfoy said in a strangled voice. “I am setting that fucking biography on fire.”

“The truth is—,“ Hermione said in a wobbling voice. “We’ve actually been in the library this whole time. The Opaleye shook the building when we were recasting the ward on the history room, and I tripped and caused—Mr Malfoy and myself to fall into it. And—it took us a while to figure out how to get out.”

Hermione was getting the distinct impression that finding people in a state of postcoital bewilderment was not something that had ever happened in the Library of Alexandria before.

“I see,” said Ignatius in a tone of confused skepticism.

“The ghosts in there were rather concerned that Malfoy was the last descendant for so many of them,” Hermione added. “So one of them decided that he should be married to me in the hopes he’d beget heirs sooner.

The explanation was really thin sounding when said aloud.

Why on earth was Malfoy suddenly silent? Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who didn’t stop taking when nervous? She glanced over at him and found him just staring at her pensively.

“Well—,“ Ignatius said, “Perhaps I should let you dress and then send word to the International Confederation that you have reappeared. This is all quite—irregular. So you’ll probably both need to be interviewed and have statements taken. I’ll go floo them now.”

Ignatius turned on his heel and left at an astonishing speed for a wizard of nearly a hundred and twelve.

Hermione reached over and plucked up her bra of the bookshelf where it had been hanging with unfortunately obvious bright, red laciness. Dropping Malfoy’s robes onto her lap she pulled it on and then reached for the crumpled heap that was her shirt.

“So—I think that the reason we both fell asleep so suddenly was probably due to re-experiencing time after such a long period of timeless consciousness,” observed Malfoy as he pulled his shirt on. “Three weeks of being awake is a lot of mental and physical energy that we were expending without actually feeling the effects. We’re probably going to be really hungry in a little while too.”

It was not really what Hermione wanted to talk about.

“I think I’m probably about to be fired,” she noted in a small voice.

Malfoy fell silent and didn’t say anything else while they dressed.

She cast about with a wandless summoning charm and their wands rolled out from under a bookshelf near the door where they’d apparently fallen.

They both cast pressing charms and freshening charms on their clothes. Just as Hermione was about to open the door Malfoy spoke again,

“Granger—,“ he said in a rather strained voice.

She pulled her hand away from the door and turned to look at him.

He stood staring at her for several seconds, opening and shutting his mouth several times as though he kept changing his mind about what he wanted to say.

Finally he said, “Your hair is—“

He pointed awkwardly at it.

“You—should probably do something about it.”

“Oh.” She reached up and tried to smooth it. It felt like an utter mess. She blushed faintly.

While she was still combing through it with her fingers Malfoy opened the door and walked out.

When she stepped out herself he was nowhere in sight. She went down the hallway toward the foyer and found Ignatius and several other witches and wizards waiting there when she arrived.

“Miss Granger. There you are. Mr. Malfoy is already giving his statement. You can step into this room over here to give yours.”

Hermione followed a stiff, reedy looking witch and wizard into one of the reading rooms and sat down to give a sanitized version of events. It took much longer than she expected, the International Confederation was apparently aghast that such a thing could have happened.

When she re-emerged the foyer had emptied. There was no Malfoy in sight.

“Mr Malfoy had to leave,” Ignatius informed her when he noticed her glancing around. “You know the regulations about three week visiting limitations. Apparently it still counts even in dimensional containment wards.”

“Oh,” Hermione said in a small voice. There was a slightly painful, sinking sensation in her stomach at the news.

She had thought—

Well—she’d thought he would say goodbye.

“Are you still wanting to complete your contract?” Ignatius inquired. “Of course, I understand after what happened that you might not want to, but the Library would sorely miss your talents.”

“Oh... of course I’d like to stay," Hermione said, overcome with relief that she wouldn’t be fired.

Things settled back into place after a few days. She was desperate to read again, but—

She found herself missing Malfoy. His conversation. His interest and ability to contribute his own information on almost any topic.

She had gotten used to his talking.

The library was so quiet.

Days passed...

She never heard from Malfoy. Not a word.

After a week she sent an owl. But nothing came back in reply.

She wrote a second note and then tossed it into the fireplace.

It didn’t matter.

It had been nothing.

It was just—a random accident that happened to befall them. Nothing more.

He probably had enough memories of her now to last him a lifetime or propel him entirely free of his crush.

She—wasn’t that awful, was she?

Maybe she had been rather angry and aggressive when they’d had sex. And—she’d never actually taken back all the mean things she’d said to him.

He had been pretty horrified when he found out the whole world knew they’d gotten married. Having a little secret crush on her was hardly the same as actually being publicly married to the most virginal and prudish individual he’d ever been acquainted with.

It was all—nothing.

Just an unfortunate workplace incident. Best forgotten.

Over now.

She was lucky to still have her job. She should focus on that.

But—Hermione found herself floating through her duties for a while. Her motivation suddenly seemed to have drained away from her. She still performed her job quite ably, after all she was a responsible witch of twenty-six, but her passion for it felt somewhat faded.

In her spare time, when she would read, she would often find her mind wandering and realize that she couldn’t remember a single line—being that, unlike some irritating people, she didn’t have a memory that recalled everything just by glancing at it once.

Life at the library suddenly seemed to pass much more slowly.

A few months later Ignatius came in excitedly to inform her that the International Confederation had finally approved a short-term librarian to add to their staff. Ignatius wanted to know if it was alright to put the new member in Hermione’s room, given that Mordred had a tendency toward trying to eat her roommates and Ignatius was a wizard now nearing his hundred and twelfth birthday.

Hermione sighed and agreed, hoping that, whomever she was, the new librarian was less of a gossip than Parvati and Lavender had been back in school. Hermione had not shared a room with anyone since leaving school because she found incessant chattering truly grating when she was trying to sleep.

Presumably—hopefully, it would be a severe, taciturn woman considerably older than Hermione. Given how rare it was for anyone to get cleared to come to the library she was probably already a librarian elsewhere, or possibly recently retired from a desk job.

According to Ignatius the new librarian was even a descendant. He was quite hopeful that the library would be able to develop some new wards with the added help. Hermione brightened at the thought, it was getting rather irritating to have to chase down and subdue a Opaleye every few days.

So Hermione went to her little room and shoved all her possessions over into one corner and transfigured another bed against the far wall. Hermione wasn’t sure if the newcomer would want a desk—well, she could conjured one herself if she did.

Then Hermione set out to dust the library. It required a trickier spell than an all purpose cleaning charm, and she lost track of time. When she finished dusting her hair was a frazzled mess from the wind charm and the clock in the hall was indicating that the new staff member had probably arrived by portkey several minutes before.

She sighed. She had meant to freshen up a bit—But no matter, appearances weren’t everything. Hermione doubted anyone who came to work in the library would care about what her hair looked like. So she patted it down half-heartedly, straightened her skirt and headed toward the foyer.

When she arrived and looked around she was surprised to see that the librarian had not arrived yet. There were no matronly, severe looking witches in sight.

Rather, standing there bag in hand, was a pointy featured, practically albino man who was too tall and had unnatural looking eyes that stared intently at her the moment she walked into the foyer.

She blinked in confusion.

“Are you here for re-warding again, Malfoy?” she inquired, feeling slightly betrayed and baffled by running unexpectedly into him.

“No. I’m not due back for that for two years,” he replied smirking.

She straightened somewhat and tried to make herself maintain a businesslike distance between them.

“Oh, right— to access some of your family’s books then. Have you been assigned a reading room yet?” She went over to the desk to look over the logbook.

“No,” he replied blandly. “They’re putting me into a room elsewhere.”

Well—that was rather non-regulation. Strange no one had mentioned it to her.

“Where are they putting you?”

“In your room, I believe.” He smirked.

“What—?“ she choked.

“Didn’t Pigglesworth mention it? I’m the new librarian,” he informed her smugly.

She stared at him.

“You became a librarian? Why would you become a librarian?” she asked in a bewildered voice.

“Why do you think?” he asked mockingly.

She stared at him for several seconds.

“I don’t know,” she said in a flat tone.

“Come now, Granger. Surely you must have some idea.” His voice was rather needling.

“I don’t,” she said in a bitter tone, “Everything about you tends to surprise, disappoint, or confuse me.”

“God, Granger,” he snorted. “You. You are the only reason I would get a job as a librarian anywhere. Much less in a library that I’d be required to live in. This is probably going to bring permanent ruin to my reputation,” he whined, slumping dramatically against the wall.

“Now everyone is going think I’m an insufferable know-it-all too,” he complained.

“Why are you here?” she demanded. She did not feel like making any assumptions at the moment. She didn’t think she could handle trying to rationalize more things that ended up meaning—nothing.

He rolled his eyes.

“I couldn’t very well leave my wife to live in a dangerous library all by herself,” he said matter of factly. “Malfoys are not traditionally very honorable, but there are a few lines we don’t cross. We even have a code of conduct that says something about not blithely allowing ones spouse to live alone among soul-siphoning magical treatises. At least it should— if it doesn’t we can have it amended. I believe the code of conduct is actually kept somewhere in this library, maybe in the general section—“ He abruptly interrupted his own rambling.

“Anyway,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Given how clumsy you are, the next time that Opaleye transfigures itself you’re liable to go falling into a dimensional containment ward with some other, less attractive descendant, and make me wait thirty years just to see you.”

Well—,“ he hedged, ”I think I would have to wait that long—I like to imagine that you aren’t the type who consents to have library sex with just any descendant you happened to do re-warding with—”

He was rambling again and stopped abruptly once more before resuming.

“Anyway—if you did go off and fall into another ward I would most definitely get grey hair and sneer wrinkles waiting thirty years to see you and your dreadful hair again. And that would really throw quite a wrench into the elaborate scheme I devised for convincing you to stay married to me.“

“So—I was going to tell you all about these plans before I left, but they dragged me out of here as soon as I finished giving my statement and the only loophole I could find to come back was applying to become a librarian. And apparently you’re not allowed to send any mail to the Library when you’re undergoing the background checks and interview processes. And I’ll have you know, that those processes take bloody ages when you happen to be an ex-death eater. I sat through so many probing interviews I even got tired of talking, if you can believe it. ”

He paused to study her.

Hermione was not crying.

There was simply—a great overabundance of dust in the library. The tears currently streaming down her face were most assuredly due to tiny particles that had adhered themselves to her corneas. And the shuddering of her chest was caused by—the asthma that she had abruptly developed. And the way her jaw was trembling was certainly just due to—how cold the Library was.

She was not weeping in the middle of the library foyer in front of Draco Malfoy.

“So,” he said, “I have very little experience as a librarian. I’m not entirely clear what all it involves aside from reshelving books and looking prudish and severe. I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to pack. The only librarian I have ever spent any time thinking about happens to be female, and I don’t think oxford heels and wool pencil skirts suit my frame, and red lace is not particularly flattering on me, even in small quantities. But I have brought a wide selection of cardigans, and bow ties, and tweed jackets, and even some spectacles—in case I am required to glare disapprovingly over them any anyone. Although, I’m happy to lend the spectacles to you, provided you promise to only use them for glaring at me. And—“

“For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy,” Hermione sobbed, “shut up!”

“Make me,” he taunted.

So—seeing as there was no other option, and his endless prattling was liable to upset the books, she strode over, grabbed him by his robes, and kissed him. 

* * *

**The End**

 


	5. Appendix A

Hermione Granger was humming softly to herself as she reshelved an enormous cart of books.

It had been a long day.

A most irritatingly grabby Russian descendant had come to the library and requested every single book his ancestors had ever submitted to the library. Hermione spent well over an hour going through the entire building, gathering up a treatise here, an ancient scroll there, until she had brought in a veritable mountain of texts. Then he’d informed her she could put them back. He had just wanted to ensure that the library was caring for them properly, he didn’t want to actually read them.

Hermione had been sorely tempted to hex him. But she had plastered a fake smile on her face as she returned all the books to the library cart and proceeded to undertake the arduous task of reshelving them and resetting the necessary wards.

As she was sliding a narrow volume into its place on a shelf a simpering giggle wafted in through the open door.

Hermione paused and rolled her eyes.

There was only one reason that anyone was giggling in the Library of Alexandria.

Draco Malfoy.

Shortly after he started working as a librarian, female descendants started popping in at unprecedented rates, giving pathetic excuses about their sudden need to look something up in that old scroll dear old Uncle Urkhard donated.

But the real reason for their visits was that Draco Malfoy was, to put it mildly, the living personification of a witch’s wet dream of an absent minded professor—or absent minded librarian, as it were.

—if librarians or professors were typically tall enough to be models with perfect Greek features and infamous wealth.

He was the most ridiculous librarian the world had ever seen.

He dressed in crisp, fitted, button down shirts topped with cardigans rolled up past the elbows on the hot days and tweed jackets on the cold. He sported an unending supply of bow-ties that always seemed slightly askew and in need of straightening. His hair was slightly tousled so that a lock would fall over his eyes whenever he looked down at a book. And sometimes he wore a pair of round spectacles, perched part way down his nose, and had a habit of bashfully straightening them.

It was all a ruse.

He was possibly the least absent minded individual on earth. His bow-ties were charmed to intermittently skew themselves. He spent ages getting his hair to look effortlessly tousled. And he didn’t even need the glasses.

But he’d drift through the library with a faraway expression or a pensively furrowed brow as though he were in deep contemplation of the most complex secrets of the magical world. And always donned an expression of surprise when the inevitable witch appeared and tried to commandeer him into her reading room, protesting that he was new and barely trained and pretending to have anxiety before allowing himself to be dragged off.

The witches’ faces were often positively glazed with happiness as they departed.

It was ridiculous.

Another giggle wafted in.

Hermione glanced surreptitiously around and then shot a muffling charm at the door.

Left in peace and quiet once more she resumed her reshelving.

She was mostly done when she arrived at a book that belonged on a shelf considerably above her head. She looked around for the step-stool that should have been nearby and couldn’t see it anywhere.

She stood on her toes and tried to slip it in. It was just—

barely—

Ugh. She couldn’t quite get it up into the slot.

She rose up on her toes and pressed herself up against the shelf, holding the spine with just the barest tips of her fingers and straining her arm up to try getting it into place.

Abruptly she found it plucked from her fingers and slotted into place by someone else.

A hard chest was pressing against her back, pinning her slightly against the shelf.

“You really are just uselessly small,” Draco drawled softly from behind her. “You’d think the library would have a height requirement.”

She rolled her eyes and tried to wriggle away from him.

“Don’t you have a descendant you’re retrieving books for?” she inquired tartly.

“No. She left. Thank Merlin,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I realize I’m only only twenty-five myself, but I’m really becoming concerned about the loose morals on the next generation. I do believe she was trying to seduce me.”

“Really? You mean she wasn’t actually here to read her great aunt’s runic treatise on removing warts with blood magic? I’m astonished”. Hermione snorted.

He gave a low barking laugh.

“Have you read it, Granger?”

“Of course. I’ve read everything in the Runes room.” She said sniffing and trying to elbow him away so she could resume her reshelving duties.

He caught her elbow before it managed to bury itself into his ribs.

“Of course you have.” He chuckled, his breath ghosting over her neck. “You are seeming rather feisty today. What have I done now?”

Hermione glared up at him over her shoulder.

“You don’t take this job seriously at all,” she said flatly.

“Not true,” he protested. “I’m utterly devoted to being a librarian.”

“Well, Ignatius will be thrilled to hear that,” she informed him dryly. “He asked me the other day whether you’d be willing to expand your contract from eight months into a regular three year one. Shall I tell him yes for you?”

“No!” he nearly yelped and then sighed dramatically once more, still caging her against the shelf.

“Fine. Perhaps utterly devoted is too strong. I’m devoted to it, but only for the current benefits.”

Hermione rolled her eyes again.

“Really? Witches never threw themselves at you before you arrived here?”

“I wasn’t referring to that,” he muttered, his hands suddenly sliding along her body. “I was referring to you.”

Hermione gasped slightly as one of his hands suddenly slid up her throat and tilted her head back so he could kiss her.

“I’m married to you. Do you really think I’d bollock that up because some tart shows up and giggles every time I say anything?”

Hermione’s irritation was fading away as his other hand moved up and began unbuttoning her shirt so he could slide his fingers over her skin.

“You were jealous,” he suddenly said, sounding astonished by the realization.

“Just a little,” she admitted. “If the library was swarming with wizards trying to drag me into the reading rooms, would the fact we’re married be enough to keep you from minding?”

“No,” he pulled her against himself more possessively. “Sorry. I was just thinking it was funny. I wasn’t thinking about how you might see it.”

“It’s fine,” she said stiffly trying again to resume reshelving.

“No, it’s not,” he pressed, not letting her slip away. “And I don’t want you to pretend it is.”

As he said it he finished with her blouse’s buttons and proceeded to pull the cups of her bra down under her breasts, exposing them to the cool air in the library. She gasped as his fingers slid lazily over her nipples, teasing them into rigid peaks.

“We—can’t,” she whimpered. “Someone could—catch us.”

“You’ll just have to be very quiet,” he purred in her ear.

She nodded obediently and he tangled his hand in her hair and turned her head so he could kiss her again. His cool grey eyes were dark with arousal as he stared down at her.

“I can’t believe you were jealous,” he muttered as he pulled the fabric of her skirt up and slid his hand between her legs. “Even my ancestors don’t expect me to ever be able to get over you. You do realize, I spend most of my time talking about us to those witches.”

“Wait? What?” Hermione stared at him bewildered, having trouble thinking about anything but what his fingers were doing at that moment.

“You really didn’t know this?” He suddenly looked amused. “Our story is considered deeply romantic. Given that we were all star crossed by the war, and then I fell for you in eighth year with no chance of winning you and resigned myself to being all sad and lonely forever. The story of how Fate intervened and caused us to cross paths here, and then we got trapped together and married and fell in love, and now live together in this library—Apparently it’s like something out of a bodice ripper. Witches eat it with a spoon. They want to hear all about it from the moment I fell for you and pined all those years.”

“That’s what you spend hours talking about?” She gasped as he slid his fingers into her core.

“Of course. This may surprise you, but I’m something of a talker, and I’m quite prone to going on and on about you.”

“Oh...” whimpered Hermione.

“So, now that we’ve cleared up this little misunderstanding, if you don’t mind,” he continued, “please stop glaring at me whenever you see me in the foyer. You’re convincing all the biddies that our relationship is on the rocks. And I have to explain that that’s how you always look at me and then they always give me these knowing looks and pinch me in deeply unsettling locations upon my person.”

“I—I thought you were flirting with them all,” Hermione admitted weakly.

He snorted.

“The only person I flirt with is Mordred, and that’s for reasons of self-preservation.”

“But then, what are all the muggle clothes and crooked bow ties and spectacles for?” she prodded as he pinched her nipple so that she shuddered in his arms.

“For you,” he replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Witches who have books in this library are completely baffled by my clothes. They all think its bizarre.”

He chuckled in her ear.

“My, my, Granger. You presumptuous little witch. Did you assume that just because you find me sexy like this getup that everybody does?”

“Only if they have eyes,” hermione retorted.

But she blushed scarlet.

She had assumed that since she thought Malfoy looked positively edible in his librarian clothes that it was a universally shared appreciation.

Oh Merlin, she was terribly jealous about him.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I think I’m more possessive about you than I realized.”

“It’s alright. I’m very possessive of you too. That Russian was leering and touching you so much I threatened to feed him to the Opaleye if he didn’t bugger off.”

She stiffened slightly.

“Is that why he left so abruptly after making me spend so much time getting all those books for him?” she demanded.

“Yes. He was planning on staying for a week. And it would have interfered gravely with this plan I had of catching you reshelving and ravishing you against a bookshelf while you try to keep quiet.”

Hermione probably should have been really irked about his abuse of his librarian position but given that she was half stripped and minutes away from shagging him—which was, comparatively speaking, the greater abuse of position—his words simply made her dramatically wetter.

“Oh...” she keened as his mouth descended onto her neck and started kissing and nipping it while his played with her breasts and his fingers continued to slide inside her and his thumb moved in lazy circles over the sensitive cluster of nerves between her legs.

“Shhhh,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

She bit her lip and nodded but couldn’t seem to keep all her moans in as he continued to tease her body until her legs gave out beneath her and he dragged her up into his arms.

“I’m going to take you against this shelf,” he growled in her ear. “You’ll have to be very quiet and hold on.”

Her head fell back against his chest and he pressed a searing kiss to her lips. Then, holding her firmly by the waist, he reached back and release his cock from his trousers and pressed it against her while sliding her knickers further out of the way.

Then he drew her up, pushed her legs a bit further apart, and impaled her on himself with a quick deep thrust.

A gasped moan promptly tore itself from Hermione’s lips and his hand instantly clamped over her mouth to muffle further sound.

She shuddered against him as he started moving quickly inside her. His other hand lazily trailing over her exposed breasts and then down between her legs, as though the sensations weren’t already overwhelming enough.

“You love breaking rules, don’t you?” he purred against her temple.

She was trembling in his arms.

Her entire front was entirely exposed and if anyone were to walk around the corner, there was no concealing what they were in the midst of.

In the quiet that blanketed the library, a single stray whimper could attract attention.

And the thought aroused her.

She wasn’t an exhibitionist, but there was something specifically about libraries; the staidness, the quiet, and the way that being around books awakened her mind. Having sex there exhilarated her the way flying on a broom and playing quidditch exhilarated other people. Every nerve in her body was on edge. Every synapse on her brain on fire. The intensity—

She was so close to coming.

“My little bookworm, I will never get tired of shagging you in here. I could have a thousand memories of this and I’d still want more,” he growled.

Her breathe through her nose was brushing over his fingers which were still locked over her jaw and mouth. Tiny gasps and moans she couldn’t quite contain were humming against his palm.

The fingertips of his other hand were drawing light, languorous patterns over her pelvis, just barely skimming—never fully touching her where she wanted to be touched most.

She arched her hips, meeting his movement and trying to make contact. A whimper escaping her from frustration as he kept her suspended, just shy of the edge she was so close to reaching.

“You’re mine,” he growled into her hair. “And when our contracts are done here in Alexandria I’m going to take you home and I’m going to fuck you in my library so often we will practically live there. And then, when there isn’t a surface in it you haven’t come on, I’m going to abuse my position as a governor at Hogwarts and I’m going sneak you in and shag you in the restricted section of the library there. And then— well... there are a great many libraries in the world. And we wizarding folk do live for an awfully long time...”

Draco Malfoy was the most ridiculous person who existed in the entire world.

If anyone else said such a thing she’d snort at their hyperbole. But he probably meant to actually follow through with all of it.

It was terrifying and thrilling how much that fact managed to excite her.

Finally his fingers caressed between her legs and she instantly came. Shaking and collapsing in his arms. A scream shuddering into a muffled wail against his palm.

He followed her a few thrusts later, slumping them both against the bookshelf for a moment before he straightened and then slipped out of her.

Turning her around he drew her up into his arms and kissed her deeply. A long, slow, sweet kiss.

Then he pulled away and looked down over her with lecherous glee.

“You’re mine,” he declared.

“And you’re mine,” she retorted reaching up and straightening his perpetually crooked bow-tie for the hundredth time that day.

He smiled.

It was so smug it was nearly a smirk— but happier.

“Always.”

 


	6. Appendix B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this several months ago and then forgot about it. So, here it is now.
> 
> The appendixes are all just misc in-universe one-shots that just happen as I think of them.

Draco Malfoy was not moping.

He wasn’t.

He was merely shredding the tassels of a parlor cushion and scheming listlessly.

And, possibly, sighing quietly to himself from time to time.

An entirely normal occupation for a former Slytherin slightly prone to dramatics.

He was not moping.

Narcissa Malfoy wafted by and Draco guiltily repaired the cushion tassels he had mangled before she could see.

He was possibly moping a little.

Just a touch.

Perhaps a lot.

Generally speaking he was not one who moped. However his wife had an unprecedented ability to bring out the most embarrassing aspects of his personality.

The reason for his despondency was as followed: Hermione Granger and he had been married for one year and eleven months and thirty days.

While other, lesser wizards might be in a state of consternation over anniversary gifts involving a creative use of cotton, Draco’s dilemma was more severe and worrisome in nature.

Their marriage had been something of an accident, involving an old library, an Opaleye, a dimensional containment ward, and some very pushy sentient magic… all of which to say, Draco’s problem was that the marriage bond which had joined them was set to expire on their two year anniversary

Draco had tried broaching the subject in a variety of subtle methods over the course of the last six months. He knew Hermione did not particularly like large weddings, so he had offhandedly mentioned a range of smaller venues, remote locations, and various schemes of elopement.

He had proposed going to Australia and eloping with her obliviated parents as witnesses. He mentioned every library they had yet to visit both Magical and Muggle. And all the libraries she had liked best that they had already been too. He even brought up the option of going to the Vatican Library and confundusing a Cardinal into marrying them.

All proposals which his wife had snorted and dismissed as though he were making terrible jokes. None of which seemed to catch her fancy at all. And recently she had looked increasingly irritated with him whenever he brought up the subject.

The final blow had been the week before when, giving up on libraries altogether, he mentioned at least going on a trip together. Sailing about the Mediterranean in a sailboat (canvas being made of cotton). She had sighed, rolled her eyes slightly, talked about her workload, and reminded him that he was due in Alexandria that weekend to re-ward all his ancestral books.

At that point his heart had dropped past his toes and continued on in the general direction of the earth’s molten core where it proceeded to burn to ash.

Right.

Alexandria for re-warding.

He had dropped the subject after that and spent the last week obsessively reliving the last two years of his marriage; trying to place exactly where it had gone wrong.

It wasn’t the sex. It remained fantastic if he did say so himself. And Hermione hadn’t issued any complaints. She was generally quite uninhibited when it came to informing him of exactly what she wanted in the event he hadn’t already managed to reduce her to an incoherent state of arousal. She tended to be very sweet and kittenish afterward, and liked to fall asleep curled around him so tightly he occasionally wondered if she were part starfish.

So it wasn’t the sex.

He didn’t think it was the talking. Although she was capable of provoking nervous monologues from him to a degree no one else could compare to. He’d once recited the seating arrangements of Theo and Pansy Nott’s five hundred wedding guests to her. He had mostly stopped rambling around her. However, on occasion, when he was worried that he’d upset her, he would start going on and on. So lately it had been slightly more of an issue.

He didn’t think he’d done anything to upset her. But maybe he had. He kept going over all their interactions until he was questioning their entire marriage.

So now he was seated in the manor parlor, reshredding a cushion tassel for the umpteenth time while he waited for his portkey to activate and take him to Egypt. Where he would spend his weekend re-warding books while his wife remained in England and their marriage dissolved itself.

He had thought—

Well, he had thought Hermione would at least say goodbye.

But that morning she’d merely pecked him on his cheek and wished him well before floo’ing to work in a distracted manner. She had been quite distracted with work for the last several weeks.

Now that she was gone he wished he’d just asked her upfront whether she wanted to stay married. He’d never come right out and asked because he was afraid he’d go all the pieces if she said no.

Going to pieces was something else Hermione Granger had the unique ability to evoke from him, along with moping and rambling.

He had thought that if he could just come up with some trip that could spark interest in her eyes that _then_ he could use it as a segway into begging her not to leave him.

But he hadn’t even managed that.

Maybe two years was the best he could hope for.

He was, after all, a former Death Eater who just mooned over her and—according to every single friend, acquaintance, and even his own father—was “utterly whipped.” All he had going for him were looks, an unique talent for memorization, and a complete and utter willingness to shag her anywhere and in any manner she happened to desire.

Because of course he would go and fall for a witch who was entirely unimpressed by his pristine bloodlines, extensive estate, and massive Gringott’s vault.

And she was—

Well, she was Hermione Granger. War heroine. Brightest witch her age (or any other age for that matter).  Unspeakable. And aside from all that, an absolute minx in the bedroom and generally just splendid and brilliant and divine...

Oh Merlin, he was whipped. He was never going to get over her. She had fallen into his arms—or dimensional containment ward (if one worried about semantics, which he did)—but somehow he’d bollocked it up and now he was on the verge of losing her and he hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do.

He still wasn’t clear how he’d managed to win her the first time around, so he was at loss as to how he could manage it again.

All he had to look forward to now was a lifetime of keen regret and alcoholism.

His portkey pinged to announce its activation. After looking to the floo once more with diminishing hope, he picked up his bag and headed to Alexandria.

He felt like setting something on fire the moment he landed. The whole library was just brimming with memories that felt bitter.

He steeled himself and stared up at Ignatius Pigglesworth and the stodgy woman standing beside him.

“Mr Malfoy, good to see you again,” Ignatius greeted him. “We are hopeful that this re-warding will pass without any mishaps.”

Draco nodded without a word.

“This is Elvira Smithkins who will be re-warding with you today.”

Draco gave her a faint nod of greeting. She was almost as tall as him with small rounded features, watery blue eyes, a severe bun, and very generously portioned—proportions.

“This way, Mr Malfoy,” Elvira instructed in a gravelly tone, turning on her heel and leading him down the hallway to the first room. She sashayed her portly hips slightly in front of him in a way that Draco found extremely discomfiting.

As they started re-warding and Elvira immediately began questioning him.

“So, you’re the famous Mr Malfoy who got married here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Two years ago tomorrow,” he said in a subdued tone as he cast and recast and recast the warding spell on one book after another.

“It’s the first story anyone hears when they come. ‘Watch out when warding or you might find yourself married.’ Not the orientation I was expecting when I arrived,” she said and then chuckled faintly. “You were a librarian here too, weren’t you?”

“For a short-time,” he said, “being a descendant I was able to pull some strings and get an abbreviated assignation.”

“Why?”

“My wife was here,” he said.

“Oh yes, Hermione Granger.” Elvira’s lips curled slightly as she said the name, immediately earning herself Draco’s eternal loathing. “Any plans for your anniversary?”

“Apparently not,” Draco said, and wished devoutly that the floor would swallow him if it would stop the conversation he could feel himself walking into.

He cast the re-warding spell more quickly in the hope of leaving the irritating librarian. Elvira just cast more quickly too.

“Trouble in paradise?” Elvira inquired, looking over at him with a curious expression.

Draco ground his jaw and weighed just how much trouble he’d get in if he hexed the witch beside him. One tiny, permanent hex would not be too much of a violation. Given the quantity of books he re-warded, Alexandria would have to get over it.

“No,” he said in a cold voice, hoping the ice in his tone would silence her.

She glanced over at him.

He stared at the book in front of him and felt the magic crackling at his fingertips.

“The marriage bond was only made to last for two years. We won’t be married tomorrow,” he finally said.

There was a pause.

“Ah. Well, it was an accident. I’m sure you’ll both be happy to put yourselves back on the market. Monogamy can be rather constraining for some.” Elvira simpered.

The book Draco was supposed to be re-warding burst into the flames. He blanched, extinguished it rapidly, and continued re-warding.

While he was so diverted he felt something leaning against him and looked over to find Elvira pressing her body against his side.

He glared at her.

“Get off before I make you,” he snarled. He was going to have to burn his robes.

She pouted and straightened.

“I thought you had a thing for libraries,” she said, sounding put off.

He stared icily at her and she continued, “Everyone said you and your ‘wife’ were just shameless in here. And, the library world is rather small, so we’ve all heard about when you were caught in Stockholm and shocked the poor head librarian so excessively she spontaneously transfigured herself into a giant squid.”

Draco flushed and started casting wards even faster.

The Stockholm incident had been rather spectacularly awful. Hermione had been horrified for weeks.

Draco had always been extremely careful. He always cast an overabundance of privacy wards and repelling charms before cornering Hermione; even some that, strictly speaking, were rather illegal, just to make sure they were never caught. But Stockholm had employed a dark artifact that had alerted to head librarian to intruding magic. They had been caught. There had been an unbelievable scene. They had been banned. For life.

Draco had bribed a lot of people in order to hush the incident, but it had obviously still managed to get out.

He ground his jaw.

Elvira was still somehow keeping up with his casting and giving him long looks through her stubby lashes.

At least she was being quiet. Draco was not going to complain.

The silence lasted all of thirty seconds.  

“So, fess up, don’t you have a thing for libraries?” Elvira asked.

“Not particularly,” Draco said.

He never wanted to set foot in another library if he could help it. He never wanted to come back to Alexandria again.

“Really? Just being in here doesn’t—awaken you? Even a little?” she asked in her gravelly voice using a slightly cajoling tone.

“I had a thing for my wife,” he said in a flat voice.

How fast could the blasted witch cast? She was impossible to shake.

“Oh,” was all Elvira said and she looked suddenly thoughtful.

There was a long silence after that and Draco used it to glance with despair around the room which he and Hermione had first re-warded together.

They had also shagged there a dozen times. Memories which Draco remembered even more vividly than he generally recalled things.

He found himself sorely desiring a stiff drink. Several, in fact. He wondered if Alexandria had any policies against drinking while re-warding. He didn’t remember there being any. Although he’d alway tended to abuse the rules rather blatantly anyway.

He should have abused them more.

He hadn’t shagged Hermione in Alexandria nearly as much as he’d wanted to. She was horribly tricky to catch even when she was giving him opportunities to do so. With all the privacy wards he had to cast, on many occasions he’d get half of them in place and then someone would walk in and the chance would be lost.

His wand stilled mid-spell as he suddenly froze.

He had always been extremely careful.

He had cast a multiplicity of wards.

Even illegal ones to ensure that they were never caught.

There was no fucking way that anyone in Alexandria knew how “shameless” he and Hermione had been there.

He dropped a subtle glance down at Elvira who was still looking thoughtful as she rapidly cast wards beside him.

“You’re right,” he said after a few seconds. “Being back on the market will be rather enjoyable. Being here again makes me realise, the marriage bond was rather constraining. It will be nice to get out again.”

Elvira started slightly and glanced up at him sharply before looking away while he mused and continued.

“Perhaps my mother still has a list of ideal witches lying around somewhere. Maybe someone with more traditional but versatile taste…”

Elvira’s expression grew rather sour and puckered.

“So, what is it about singleness that you’re most looking forward to re-embracing?” inquired Elvira after a while.

“The variety,” he said with a leer.

Elvira’s eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me, I need to use the loo,” she said after a moment.

Draco glanced at his watch. They had been casting wards for less than half an hour.

“We’re almost done in here,” he pointed out blandly. “And we’ll pass it on the way to the next room.”

“I really must go now,” she said looking toward the door in a slightly anxious and shifty manner.

Draco leaned against the bookshelf and stared at her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked with feigned concern.

“Oh, no,” Elvira squeaked, her gravelly voice jumping an unexpected octave.

“You know,” he said in a low voice, “when I first saw you I found you horrendously unattractive. But you have improved upon further acquaintance. I’m not technically single yet but if we take long enough with the re-warding perhaps you can join me in ushering in the next chapter of my life.”

“Indeed?” she said with an unconcealed expression of disbelief.

The gravelly quality of Elvira’s voice seemed suddenly more forced and the simpering had completely vanished. The roots of her hair were changing colour slightly.

“After two years of unsolicited monogamy practically anyone can catch my eye,” he drawled, watching as Elvira bristled. “It wasn’t as though my marriage was intentional or planned. I was not nearly done sowing my wild oats when I was unexpectedly espoused.”

He sighed. Elvira fidgeted slightly and looked ready to combust or bolt. Before she could do either Draco quickly pulled the dowdy woman into his arms. Her eyes widened in shock as the space between them vanished.

Just before he pressed his lips against hers he muttered, “You are a cruel, cruel witch.”

Then he proceeded to snog the unattractive woman quite aggressively. She shoved him away with an indignant gasp. He smirked at her as she stumbled away, becoming shorter and shorter as she collapsed against the bookshelf. Her dull, rounded features began sharpening and thinning. Her hair grew thicker and thicker until the severe bun exploded into a riot of uncontainable curls. And her watery blue eyes turned brown and enormous despite being narrowed and flashing with indignation.

“Draco Malfoy you are horrible,” said Hermione Granger as she finally appeared before him, swimming in the oversized robes.

“I am horrible?” He scoffed. “Do you have any idea the emotional agony you have inflicted upon me the last several weeks?”

“Do you have any idea how many anniversary plans you have ruined in the last several months?” she asked crisply.

Her hair seemed to be positively electric, but the intimidation of her outrage was lessened because the robes she was wearing had started slipping off on one side and exposing a lightly freckled shoulder, and the skirt was threatening to slip entirely off her slender hips.

“I ruined our anniversary plans?” he choked.

“Yes!” she barked, putting her hands on her hips to hold her skirting up and glaring at him. “Every time I came up with an idea and started getting the details into order you’d go and bring up my very idea over breakfast or dinner, ruin it all and force me to start over again!”

Draco stared at her aghast.

“That is why you looked so irritated when I brought up the Admont Library?” he asked faintly.

“Yes! And the Vatican! And Atlantis! I have had to cancel on fifteen warlocks now!”

She was seething and Draco supposed it would be inappropriate to kiss her with relief at that particular moment.

She tossed her head and glared up at him.

“You always get to plan everything. I told you last year I wanted a chance to surprise you. And I thought you’d be willing to let our second anniversary alone and let me do it. But then you’ve had to go ruin all my plans by figuring them out and shoving that fact in my face like some kind of spiteful little cretin. I still don’t even know how you did it! I had Harry and Ron post owls for me. I polyjuiced myself and used the international Floo network when I knew you were in meeting and you’d still blandly throw all my plans into my face within a few days. Did you put some kind of dark trace onto me? I went to five curse breakers and none of them could even find anything.”

Oh dear. She was actually quite angry.

Draco was still flummoxed with relief.

“I didn’t trace you. I wasn’t trying to figure them out,” he protested. “I was trying to plan our anniversary too.”

Hermione stilled and stared up at him in astonishment. Draco ran his hand through his hair and gestured futilely.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to stay married. I thought if I could come up with an idea you liked, that it would be a context by which to ask. But every time I brought the subject up you dismissed the idea or looked annoyed. So—I started to think maybe you wanted me to realise we were done and were trying to spare me the conversation…” his voice trailed off.

“You idiot!” she gasped in outrage. “So what? You thought I was going to peck you on the cheek, send you the Alexandria and then move out while you were away?”

In retrospect the fear had perhaps been slightly implausible.

“I…” he said and his hands flailed slightly as he attempted to recover himself from the flood of relief and embarrassment he was currently caught in the midst of. “I didn’t want to presume—and I was afraid to ask because I wasn’t sure if I could handle it if I did and you said no.”

Hermione dropped her hand over her eyes as though she couldn’t bear to look at him.

“You are unbelievable,” she muttered. She was still fuming and her hair was still crackling from all the indignation she was burning with. Draco drew closer anyway.

“How are you even here? How on earth did you get in?” he inquired, slightly concerning thought came to him. “Is there a librarian stuffed in a closet somewhere?”

Hermione drew her hand off her eyes to glare at him some more.

“Of course not,” she said primly. “Once I realised that you were determined to ruin all of my surprises I decided that the best course of action would be to pretend to give up. I realised you probably would regard Alexandria as too predictable, so I got it all worked out with Ignatius to bend the rules a bit and let me in. My plan was to keep pretending to be Elvira until we passed to the history room and then use an illusion I made to make it appear like we’d accidentally fallen into a dimensional containment ward again. I assumed you’d be horrified and then I was going to surprise you by pulling down the illusion and boom, we’d actually be on a sailboat off Amalfi and tomorrow a Warlock would arrive to cast a new marriage bond and the portkey away and leave us to honeymoon for a month. But of course you had to ruin that too. How did you figure out it was me?”

Draco was struggling valiantly against the all-encompassing urge to shag Hermione where she stood but it was a losing battle.

“You knew far too much about our sex life to be anyone but my wife,” he muttered closing in on her.

She blinked.

“Really?” She pouted as he captured her lips with his, but then hummed slightly and wrapped her arms around him, snogging him ferociously with all her residual frustration over all the plans he’d unintentionally thwarted.

He started kissing his way along her jaw.

“I barely said anything though,” she whined.

“Do you—have any—idea—,” he asked as he pressed open mouthed kisses along her throat while he tangled his fingers in her hair, “how many—privacy wards—I cast before I shag you?”

“You do?” she gasped.

He withdrew slightly.

“I know you enjoy the thrill, but Stockholm clearly illustrated that exhibitionism is not your thing. So, yes, I am always very careful and it has probably cost me more opportunities of ravishing you than I care to realise,” he said looking plaintive and tugging at the buttons of her oversized clothing.

“Oh…” she said and almost all the irritation in her expression had vanished. “You—I didn’t know that..”

“I realised that, Elvira,” he said with a smirk. With a final tug her clothing fell into a heap on the floor. Then he proceeded to drag her into his arms and snog her thoroughly against the bookshelf, sliding his hands over her delicate curves with a groan.

“So, you’re not going to leave me?” he inquired between kisses.

“No, you great pillock,” she said with an annoyed moan as his fingers slid up to palm her breasts and graze his thumb over her nipple the way she liked. “You have apparently not noticed, but I’m rather besotted with you.”

“Well, I didn’t want to presume,” he said, still feeling mildly put out with her over the emotional turmoil she had inflicted upon him. Although it paled in comparison with the inferno of desire she was stoking as she slid her fingers along his shirt, popping the buttons open with astonishing rapidity. “Maybe you just liked me for my library access.”

She stiffened and smacked him across the arm.

“I don’t need you to access libraries,” she scoffed, donning a sneer that was terrifyingly reminiscent of his own. “Do you really think I’m just using you for sex or something?”

She was getting extremely offended looking and her fingers had stilled from their disrobing.

Draco stilled.

“No…” he said slowly, staring down at her. “But the fact remains, we got married without your having any interest in me. Just because we could have fun and make the best of it for two years didn’t necessarily indicate you would want to keep doing it forever.”

Hermione arched a brow.

“So, what? You supposed I’d just take advantage of your feelings and shag you for two years to make the best of it?” she asked in a dangerous voice.

“No,” he said quickly. “I know you care about me. I just—“

How could the same witch who prompted him to recite guest lists also reduce him to near incoherence?

He sighed in frustration and dropped his head atop hers.

“I spent the past several weeks becoming increasingly convinced that you didn’t want to be married to me anymore. It’s going to take a bit before I recover my ego.”

Hermione looked apologetic.

“Oh Draco, you ridiculous man.”

She placed her hands on both sides of his face and stared up at him so affectionately he thought he saw actual stars in her eyes. She went up on her toes, but finding she wasn’t quite tall enough, dragged his face down so she could kiss him on the tip of his nose.

“Even if there wasn’t a warlock in the world who would remarry us you still wouldn’t be able to get rid of me. We’d just live in sin,” she purred before pressing her lips against his.

He chuckled against her mouth.

“Not a chance, witch. I’m going to tie you down with a marriage bond even if I have to perform it myself.”

“Are you sure? You won’t miss the variety? You’re not looking for someone with more traditional but versatile taste?” she said in a teasing tone.

He snorted and drew his wand, casting a series of wards around the room.

“No. I’m afraid this was your one chance to escape. Now you’re going to be stuck with me permanently.”

“Oh no, what will I do?” she said in mock horror. She was entirely nude and her eyes were sparkling as she watched him. “I’m going to have to retract my invitation to that grabby Russian who kept trying to visit.”

“There are absolutely no Russians in your future,” he said, giving her a glare as he finished casting. “Now, I had envisioned doing this with you clothed, but naked in a library is rather fitting.”

He flicked his wand and with a nonverbal spell, summoned a small box he’d been carrying around for half a year. He flipped it open to reveal a delicate ring of white gold. Then he dropped to one knee.

“Hermione Granger,” he said, staring up at her seriously. “I didn’t get to tell you all this before the first time around, but I have been in love with you since eighth year. You are the bravest, most brilliant, and beautiful witch on earth. The past two years have been the happiest of my entire life and confirmed to everyone acquainted with me that you have me completely whipped. I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I will become a librarian again. I will face down Opaleyes and giant squids, although preferably only the transfigured varieties. I will shag you in any library your heart desires. I will love you forever, even if you look like Elvira Smithkins; although I’d really prefer if you didn’t. You are the only person on this earth that I want to spend my life with. So, while I realise that you are currently married to me, I would like to ask you now to do me the immense honor of doing it again.  Preferably tomorrow… What do you say, Granger, marry me twice?”

Hermione had started sniggering about halfway through his speech and by the end of it she had thrown her head back and laughed outright until peals of laughter were bouncing off the walls. When he finally popped the question, she dropped to her knees and started fumbling through the pile of clothing on the floor, still laughing quietly to herself. Finally she found what she was looking for and pulling out a box of her own, opened it to reveal an elegant goblin-wrought ring in Draco’s size.

Her eyes were dancing and she was still chuckling with amusement as she started speaking.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said, snickering, “I have to admit that when I first got married to you I thought you were an irredeemable arse. However, after spending a month actually getting to know you I discovered that you are quite possibly the sweetest person I have ever known in my entire life. You make me happier than anyone else; to the point that my coworkers have stuck paper bags over my head to block out how excessively I beam at work. I would follow you anywhere in the world. I would even give up libraries if that’s what it took to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the cleverest, most caring, and unjustly attractive wizard on earth. And now that we have gotten married, consummated, and honeymooned in this library, I would like very much to also get engaged in it. Will you marry me again tomorrow, Malfoy?”

Draco didn’t reply. He just dragged her into his arms and kissed her as deeply as he could. Sliding his fingers into her wild hair and enveloping her in his arms.

“You’re mine now, Granger,” he growled in her ear. “Forever.”  

“Yours,” she said, as she tangled her fingers into his hair and dragged his lips against hers. “Just like you’re mine.”


End file.
